


Fragments of Memories

by ever_enthralled



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Romance, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Infidelity, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Major Character Injury, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Erwin Smith, Reader-Insert, Season 3 Spoilers, Slow Burn, Teacher Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Teacher Reader, Violent flashbacks, What else is new, but also a douche, cadets as kids, erwin/reader is engame, zeke is great
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ever_enthralled/pseuds/ever_enthralled
Summary: Feeling as though life is growing stagnant, you and your fiance move from your modest, rural hometown back to the city he grew up in. Relocating is stressful, but your job at the local elementary school is perfect and brings with it new friends like the soft yet stern kindergarten teacher, Levi, and the half-crazed fifth grade science teacher, Hange.It also causes you to cross paths with one Erwin Smith, the college professor Levi introduces you to, and though you're more than content with your fiance, you can't help but notice a certain spark between yourself and the well-spoken, blue-eyed man.It might have something to do with the striking similarities he shares with a certain military commander you've been dreaming about since childhood.
Relationships: Erwin Smith/Reader, Zeke (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader
Comments: 397
Kudos: 857





	1. the city starts to fade into the setting sun

**Author's Note:**

> Okay look. I just want to write a reincarnation AU. I have this set to 15 chapters, but it might change. Story and chapter title goes to Nano's 'Fragments of Memories' (or Memory's Fragments, however you translate it. It's great. Give it a listen.

✴

It's a mess from the beginning, a hail Mary, the only chance humanity has for survival. You have to _get him back_. It's not an option, you _have to_. 

Except there are so many of those monsters, not just the special colossal and armored, but all the others, and it doesn't take long for the formation to be overrun. 

Your eyes are trained forward, covering as much ground as you can on your horse as you wait for any orders, to pull back, get the fuck out of there, but all you hear is _"Advance!"_ over and over again. 

_"Advance!"_

_"Advance!"_

It sounds crazed, and when you squint to find where the command is coming from, you see exactly why: the man who's been bellowing the entire time is dangling from one of the monsters' mouths, right arm caught between massive teeth, sword still clutched in his free hand, and _no no no, this can't be happening, can't be--_

You know you aren't supposed to break formation (any more than it already has been broken), but you do anyway, tugging the reins of your horse and redirecting it to gallop toward the creature and its prey. 

_Not him. Not him, please, not him._

When you're close enough to jump, you do, sinking anchors into flesh and letting your wires guide you. You vaguely register that deep baritone voice frantically ordering you to turn back, to leave him, but you can't. He doesn't understand just how much you _can't_. 

So with a rushed, _"Sorry, Commander,"_ you slice into his bicep, cringing at the pained scream that rips from his throat. 

He falls, and you just barely manage to grab hold of his green cloak, twisting so that you're beneath him to lessen the brunt of the fall for the already gravely injured man. He's large and heavy, knocking all the air out of you as you hit, and fuck, he's bleeding _so much_ , crimson pouring from his shoulder, soaking his uniform and the grass and you. 

He sits up on knees, muttering over and over, nearly nonsensical, _"have to save him… only hope… so foolish…"_ and cerulean eyes lock onto yours just as you're cutting belts off your leg. _"You're disobeying a direct order, soldier."_ His voice is slurring, and he probably doesn't even realize it, but you do-- _god, you do_. He's getting paler by the second, usually tan skin growing ashen as blood drains from his face at a rapid pace. 

_"All due respect, commander,_ you're _humanity's only hope,"_ you tell him gruffly, then shove a piece of leather in his face with the simple command, _"Bite."_

He's doing his best to glare, but it's not nearly as intimidating as it usually is. You're too distracted with _saving his life_ to care about how upset he is with you. Emotions can wait. They have to wait. 

Because if you think about how scared you are, you'll lose it. If you think about how badly your heart is breaking for this man, you won't be able to keep him alive. If you get too lost in your own hopelessness, you're both as good as dead. So the feelings _have to wait_. 

He lets out a strangled growl when you cinch your belts around his stump, making sure it's tight enough to stop the bleeding until you can get back to base. Fuck, it's a mess-- _he's_ a mess, blond hair plastered to his forehead with feverish sweat and trembling in shock he has yet to acknowledge. 

But he's alive. For now. 

The rescue is a success--disastrous but a success. There are no wagons to carry back the mountain of corpses or the many wounded. The Commander somehow manages to stay upright on his horse, gripping the reins in his remaining hand, and the image makes you sick to your stomach because you know what this means: he won't be able to fight anymore, not the way he used to. 

But, he's still going to. You know he will. He's never given up on a dream. 

◈

You sit upright in bed and let out a shuddering breath. The sheets are tight around your waist, too tight, and when you drag your hands down your face, you notice they're shaking. You've had nightmares like this for as long as you can remember--huge monsters hungry for humans, your friends dying horribly, and that man, with golden hair and impossibly deep blue eyes... He's always there. _The Commander._

There's a tight feeling in your chest, like someone is squeezing your heart, and just like every other time you have one of these graphic dreams, you're wracked with unexplainable longing and loneliness. You feel hollow, like part of you was left behind in that nightmare world. 

Shaking your head, you slide out of bed, taking care not to wake the man slumbering beside you. You grab a flannel off the ground, the one he discarded the night before, and slip your arms into it, then quietly make your way out of the bedroom and into the hall. 

The apartment you share is of reasonable size, not too small but big enough to give you and your fiance your own space. You're still not used to it, having only just moved in two weeks ago. The walls still need decorating, and there are a few boxes left to unpack, but you're happy with it. It's affordable between the two of you, though things might get tight should life throw you any curveballs, like the emergency appendectomy a couple years ago or having a blowout on your way to work last month. 

The clock in the kitchen reads 4:43AM, and you grumble your way to the coffeemaker, already know it's going to be a shit day, which is really quite unfortunate considering exactly what day it is. Your stomach hurts, and that ache behind your sternum doesn't seem to be going away anytime soon. Every time you shut your eyes, you're met with flashes of color--yellow, blue, green, red. So much red. You can still hear that booming voice-- _"Advance!"_

You can still feel mangled flesh beneath your fingers, warm liquid seeping through as you try to stop the bleeding _stop the bleeding stop the--_

The coffeemaker beeps, startling you from your thoughts, and you shove a mug under the dispenser, watching as it fills and breathing in the familiar aroma in hopes that it will ground you, remind you that you are firmly in place in _this_ world, not the one of your nightmares. 

It's actually been a while since you last had a dream like that. When you were younger, a teenager full of rage and hormones, you saw a psychiatrist fairly regularly who prescribed medicine to help with the "night terrors", and while they did a damn good job of knocking you out cold, the dreams still managed to break through and take hold of you every once in a while, especially in times of high stress. 

So, this can probably be attributed to the move--new apartment in a new city in a new state. New engagement, new job you'll have to be getting reading for in about an hour. It's just… a lot. 

You pour a reasonable amount of creamer into your coffee, stirring in some sugar as you go, then pad into the living room and take a seat in the plush rocking chair next to the couch. For a while, you just sit, pushing yourself gently with your toes as you sip on your too-hot drink, but after just a few minutes, you turn on the TV, hoping that some low volume chatter will help clear your head. The steady buzz gets rid of most of the intrusive thoughts but not all of them--not the voices or the screams, not the ocean eyes cloudy with blood loss, straight, white teeth biting down on leather. It’s blurry, though, as it always is after waking up. You can never remember exactly what the monsters looked like, only that they were big. Can’t recall the uniform you’re all in save for green cloaks and high boots. And, you can never, ever get a firm grasp on _his_ face. All that’s left are strands of golden hair and endless sky blue…

It’s better that way, though. You spent most of your childhood and teenage years making yourself sick over these dreams and these people, this world that doesn’t even exist. It’s best you just wake up from it and live your life like a normal person. _They’re just nightmares,_ you tell yourself, your inner monologue sounding a lot like the psychiatrist from years ago. _They don’t mean anything. Don’t mean anything. Don’t mean anything._

You make it through an entire early morning news broadcast and two cups of coffee before you hear stirring from your bedroom, glance to the hallway just in time to see your fiance step out in his boxers. 

“What’re you doing up so early?” He asks, voice thick with sleep as he rubs his eyes. 

You shrug your shoulders. “Just wasn’t sleeping well. Coffee’s ready in the kitchen.” You take another sip of your own, hum contentedly around the rim of the mug when he passes behind the couch and pauses at the chair to lean down and place a chaste kiss on your forehead. 

“You’re gonna be miserable on your first day,” he calls, pacing into the other room. 

You laugh through your nose. “I know.”

“A class full of second graders on little to no sleep? Sounds like my own personal hell.”

It makes you smile, just hearing his voice, even if in a teasing tone, helps wash away the last bits of your anxiety, and you stand from your chair and join him in the kitchen, leaning against the wall. 

“Honestly, I don’t know how you do it, babe,” he continues, back to you, and you admire the expanse of pale skin, a couple freckles here and there, his trim waist and those ridiculous maroon boxers. Shaggy blond hair falls over his nape, a mess on top of his head, and when he finally turns, he fixes icy eyes on your face--lighter than those in your dream because everything about him is lighter, _not that it matters_ \--and his lips turn up in an incredulous little smirk as he finishes his thought: “I hate kids.”

You snort, roll your eyes. “Rich coming from the guy who’s just taken the position of little league coach.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groans. “It’s just ‘cause my dad guilt-tripped me. _Now that you’re here after years of **family abandonment** ,”_ he mimics in a voice deeper than both his and the man’s he’s trying to impersonate, _“how about you try to bond with your little brother? He likes baseball, you know.”_

“He just missed you,” you tell your now pouting fiance. “I wouldn’t call what you did _abandoning_ them, but from what you’ve told me, you did kinda just… run off.”

“I’m not a fan of his wife,” he says bluntly, taking a sip of coffee only to let out a short yelp, “Ah! _Hot!”_

“Fuckin’ goof. Blow on it.”

“ _You_ blow on it,” he counters childishly, grinning crookedly at the way you raise your eyebrows in response. 

“It’s too early for innuendo, you heathen,” you try to sound serious, though it doesn’t work at all, not when the blond puts his steaming mug down and crosses the tiled floor to get to you, mischief dancing in those pale blue eyes.

“Too early, huh?” He reaches up and straightens the collar of the wrinkled flannel. “That’s a shame ‘cause you’re looking pretty good wearing just my shirt.” 

You scoff, tiny smile betraying your facade of annoyance, but you do manage to pull the material closed over your chest before he can get any more ideas. “Later,” you tell him.

“Promise?” He pushes, hand leaving the thick material in order to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. 

Even this early in the morning, with bedhead and sleep still dusting his eyes, he’s so handsome, and you let your own grasp drift from the shirt to his bare hips, raising to your tiptoes in order to brush your lips over his. 

“I promise, Zeke.”

◈

The school is about a fifteen minute drive from your apartment--would be ten, but morning traffic _definitely_ exists in this city, very different from the more rural area you grew up in. You can’t ignore the swarm of butterflies in your stomach, the coffee from earlier churning dangerously. You really shouldn’t be as nervous as you are. It’s not like you don’t have experience teaching; you have been for five years, and while that doesn’t exactly make you a veteran, it makes you a little less green.

You’re very thankful for the opportunity, tipped off about it by Zeke’s father, Grisha. Eren, Grisha’s youngest and Zeke’s little half-brother, is entering kindergarten, and being the devoted dad he is (and possibly at Carla’s request), Grisha made sure to learn about all the elementary schools in the surrounding area, happening to hear about an open position and passing it on.

It’s luck, really, that the man had called Zeke when he did, right when you and your fiance were talking about relocating, both wanting to move forward in life and leave the small town behind--your hometown. Zeke grew up in this city, but you… You feel a little overwhelmed as you pull into the busy parking lot of the school. You’ve been up here numerous times the past week, rushing to get your room ready for the hoard of seven-year-olds. The Winnie-the-Pooh theme from your old kinder classroom seemed a little too young, the final nail in the coffin that was your mental stability for the last few days, but Zeke had been wonderful about it, running to the nearest office store and printing off _way too many_ Pokemon cutouts. 

_“I panicked,”_ he had said, eyes wide behind his glasses, arms full of rolled up papers. _“It’s the only other semi-popular kids show I know, and you were **crying**.”_

Seeing your room now, bordered with yellow, blue, green, and orange makes you grin. Every name plate on the tables has its own familiar creature taped down next to it, and there are various animated heads and eyes peeking over the number lines and alphabet banners that run around the top of the room. Tubs and cubbies are now labeled: daily work, homework, Tuesday folders, etc. and decorated with a couple carefully placed stickers from a Pokemon book Zeke may or may not have stolen from Eren. 

The colorful cutouts, pictures, and stickers are cuter than you thought they would be, scared it wouldn’t be inclusive enough, but there’s a pretty even split of what looks “boyish” and “girly” ( _“But also fuck gender norms, it’s the twenty-first century,”_ Zeke had reminded you the previous night, right before pricking his finger with a thumbtack).

There’s a mat for the kids to sit on for Every-Day-Counts and storytime, a reading corner, writing center, and ipads for math once they’re done with their worksheets. You have your own desk in the corner and a larger table on the other side of the room for small groups. All in all, you’re happy with the way it turned out, laughing quietly to yourself as you remember how frantic you had been getting it ready. If it weren’t for Zeke…

You drop your purse and tote bag behind your desk, smooth out your cardigan and fix your hair. You can already hear excited little voices in the hallway. The kids will be walking in any time now, most likely joined by at least one parent. First days of school are always exciting, and though you’re nervous about all the unfamiliar families you’re going to have to build a rapport with, you’re glad to be right here right now, standing in the doorway to your classroom with a big smile, ready to welcome your new students.

As you greet both adults and children, shaking hands and giving hugs to bouncing little ones, you’re completely unaware of the pair of silver eyes staring at you from the end of the hall, don’t notice as he raises a phone to his ear and speaks into it, never breaking his gaze.

◇

Downtown at the local university, Erwin Smith’s office phone rings. He takes one look at the caller ID-- _ACKERMAN_ \-- and picks up.

Erwin greets him with a short, “Levi,” squinting at the time on his computer. He has a class in less than ten minutes, so whatever his friend wants…

“Guess who I’m looking at right this second.”

And, Erwin’s stomach flips. He’s gotten a call like this before from the very same man, news that Levi had finally found another one of their own, someone else from their last life. 

“Who is it?” Erwin dares, hoping with everything inside of him that the name that he hears over the phone will be _yours_. 

And, it is. 

Inhaling sharply, Erwin bends to rest his forehead on his desk, a ridiculous position should anyone find him, but he really _does not care_. 

“Where?”

His voice comes out low and a little shaky, something Levi notices immediately, and Erwin hears the other man snort into the phone. “Calm down, old man. Don’t want you going into cardiac arrest or anything. Looks like she’s the new second grade teacher.”

“At your school?”

“The very same.” 

Erwin isn’t sure what he wants to do other than maybe scream. His pulse is racing, adrenaline flooding his veins, and he’s so excited. After all this time, these years spent searching and hoping and pleading to the cosmos to give him a second chance-- _just let me love her one more time,_ \--and now…

“Oh, shit," Levi breathes, and Erwin’s smile falters. “She saw me.” 

“A-are you going to talk to--” 

“Erwin…” 

There’s a pause, and Erwin’s face falls in time with his heart because he knows what this means. There’s no joyful shrieking or the sound of his friend falling to the ground from getting tackled with a hug. No surprised _“Captain Levi?”_ , nothing. 

“She doesn’t recognize you,” Erwin states, now monotone. 

“I--I don’t think so, no.” Erwin drags a hand down his face, swears under his breath. “Sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” It’s not, but that doesn’t mean Erwin wants to hang up on his friend any less. That excitement from just moments ago now settles in his bones as dread, heavy and dark. 

“Yeah, but--...” Levi sighs. “Look, I gotta go, but I’ll talk to her around lunch, do the whole _how’re you liking it here_ bullshit and see where it gets me.” 

“Sure, just… Don’t force anything.” 

“You mean don’t ask any personal questions that may trigger past traumas she doesn’t know she has?” 

Never one to mince his words. “That’s exactly what I mean.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you got it, Commander.” 

Erwin lets out a humorless laugh then says goodbye. It’s hard to pull himself out of his chair. He has to. He knows he has to, knows his students are waiting outside his locked classroom, but he can’t even focus, seemingly ancient memories flashing through his head as he does his best to steady his breathing. 

He always imagined--fantasized really--that whenever he found you again, it would be this fantastic reunion. He doesn’t have to be as straight-laced in this life, would be able to scoop you into his arms and swing you around and pepper your beautiful face with countless kisses. 

That is obviously not going to happen, though. 

With a groan, Erwin stands, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to get rid of the tension building in his back. He grabs the folders he needs as well as a copy as the book he’ll be referencing in his lecture, then steps out of his office. 

He can’t let himself fall into despair over this. You’re here in this world, with Levi and soon with Erwin, and even though things look dismal now, Erwin has to hold out hope that maybe, on some molecular level, you’ll still remember him. 


	2. as i turn my back and walk the lonely road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna try to update this every tuesday and saturday, but we'll see.

◈

Getting parents to leave is easier the older the children are, and while you still have a handful of criers, you’re able to calm them down enough to reassure both them and their guardians that it’s going to be okay, and they’re going to have fun in your class. By the time everyone is settled (as settled as seven-year-olds can get) and you’ve gone over all of the guidelines and operations of second grade, it’s nearing out-class, your first of two breaks of the day.

You appoint Ymir, one of your sure-to-be motor mouths, as line leader for the girls, and a chubby cheeked Reiner to lead the boys. For a little guy, he already knows pride, and keeps his chest puffed out the entire way to the gymnasium, though out of the corner of your eye, you see him look up at you multiple times as if to check, _am I doing a good job? Yes? Yes._ You gesture for them to enter the gym, nod to the coach from the doorway and ruffle some hair as the kids file inside. Hopefully, this will help them exercise away more of their first-day nerves.

On your way back to your classroom, you mentally prepare a prioritized list of everything that needs to get done before the kids get back. You’ll have another hour with them in the class until recess, then lunch, then about three hours of no more breaks. 

_Need to talk about the lunch line and how it works, make sure everyone knows their numbers. While they’re gone there, I can sort out their dismissal tags--_

“Hey--” you look away from the colorful wall art you’ve been absentmindedly taking in while passing, eyes landing on a rather small man with jet black hair and steel eyes. You recognize him from this morning, the same one you caught staring at you, and though you had forgotten about his unnerving gaze, it comes back full force as you approach. “You’re the new second grade teacher, right?”

You come to a stop a few feet away from him. He has a small stack of worksheets in one of his hands, a pretty hopeless cut and paste exercise, it looks like, and a steel tumbler is held against his chest. Even with his short stature and the apron tied around his waist, something about the man gives off an aura of power very unfitting of an elementary school teacher. 

“Um, yeah, I am.” You hold a hand out, waiting for him to tuck the assignments under his arm, then curl your fingers around his palm. (F/n) (L/n).”

“Levi Ackerman,” he introduces himself, and for some reason, the name sounds familiar, that combination of syllables just… Resonates. 

“Ackerman,” you repeat, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “Do I have a kid of yours in my class?”

He shakes his head. “No, I have a cousin in first grade here, though, Mikasa.”

You hum in thought. “What grade level are you?”

Despite that strange, intimidating energy, Levi is fairly easy to talk to as he walks with you the rest of the way to your classroom. He’s a kindergarten teacher, rolls his eyes when you tell him it’s odd to see a male working with children so young.

“Everyone says that. I just like ‘em. Kids are easy, way easier than adults.”

“Parents are pretty overbearing in kinder, though. I taught it for a couple years back home, and God, the number of emails I would get _daily_ from concerned mothers…”

“Oh, I know. I’ve already picked out the doozies I’ll have this year. It’s gonna be Kirstein’s mom and Reiss’ dad. I can _feel_ it.” Despite the annoyance in his voice, there's a very soft smile on his face, an undeniable fondness. He sits on one of the student tables, low enough to be a chair, and throws one leg over the other while taking a sip of whatever he's drinking. "But, enough about that. What brought you here?"

"To the school or to the city?" You ask, opening a drawer in your desk to grab a bag of Goldfish you had stashed there this morning. 

Levi shrugs. "Both. We only get new meat here every couple of years. The staff has stayed pretty solid since I started."

"What, you want to get the hot gossip before anyone else can?" You ask with a grin, popping one of the cheese crackers into your mouth. 

"Just curious is all."

"Well, it's not all that interesting of a story--grew up in a small town and was ready to move on to bigger and better things." Levi nods, listening as he smooths down the Pokemon sticker that Bertholdt has already managed to peel halfway off his name-plate. "I've been teaching since I graduated college, so this is my sixth year." 

"Different here so far?" 

"It's bigger, that's for sure. There were only two teachers per grade level at my old school. Classes were smaller."

"Christ, you come from bum fuck Egypt or something?" 

You blink at the man a few times, taken aback by his language because one, he teaches _five-year-olds_ , and two, you hadn't realized you were already familiar enough to let your guard down that far. Still, if he feels comfortable in being himself around you, you aren't going to complain, may as well join him. 

"Fuck off, it's just a little off the beaten path," you tell him with a sly smile that widens when he snorts in amusement. 

"Whatever you say, bumpkin."

Time dilates inside schools, doesn't matter if you're a teacher or a student. Clocks just seem to speed up or slow down whenever is least convenient. After twenty-five minutes of curious small-talk and banter, Levi rises from his seat and announces he has lunch duty. His class should be coming in from recess very soon, just like yours will be returning from out-class. 

"So, uh, first days, me and some of the other teachers go out for happy hour--"

"Just on the first days?" You question with a raised eyebrow. 

Levi waves you off. "Plus every Friday, but that isn't the point. If you don't have anything better to do, you should come with us today."

"Are y'all like the cool kids on campus?" You tease, able to hear a quiet stampede of footsteps and not-so-quiet whispers approaching. 

"Four-Eyes, Mob, and me--cool?" He chuckles. "I wouldn't say that, but we're uh… We're somethin'."

"I'll think about it. I need to talk to my f--"

"Mr. Levi!"

Three of your students launch themselves at the man, little arms wrapping around his waist and one of his legs. He cuts his eyes at them like he's irritated, actually places a hand on Marco's head and pushes it back to look at him, but then he grins at the freckled boy as well as Mina and Hanna. 

"Are you guys behaving for Miss (L/n)?" 

"Yes, sir!"

"Promise?"

You watch, very entertained as Levi gives hugs and pats to the kids, unsure if he actually had them in his class before or if he's just well-known among the student population. He tells you he'll come back after dismissal to see if you want to tag-along for drinks, then slips into the hallway, leaving you feeling a little warm and giddy at the prospect of having maybe made your first real friend in the city. Mr. Ackerman: scary looking kindergarten teacher with a gentle heart.

The rest of the school day is hectic but manageable. Annie skins her knee at recess, and though she doesn't seem all that fazed by it, you still insist on taking her to the nurse's office to get it cleaned and covered. Then, at lunch, Bertholdt drinks too much milk and throws up next to the bench he’s sharing with Reiner and Marcel. You spend a good ten minutes trying to calm him down before his anxious tears turn to full on hysterics. He also earns himself a trip to the nurse, though he takes gentle hold of your cardigan when you suggest calling his parents. 

"I feel better now," he tells you with wide brown eyes. "I don't wanna go home yet. I-I'm a big kid." 

Back in the classroom, you get through one round of stations then tell the kids it’s time to practice for dismissal, passing out their little laminated tags that designate them as car riders, bus riders, walkers, extended day, or daycare. Despite almost all of them knowing their way around, you give them the short tour through the second grade hallway down to kindergarten. It seems Levi is in the middle of his own tour, and when a familiar pair of bright green eyes land on you from below, you grin broadly at Eren who waves excitedly.

“Hi, (Y/n)! Hi! Hi! Is that your class? Wow! I can’t wait--”

“Eren,” Levi admonishes quietly, and you don’t miss the way his brows knit together when he looks from the little boy to you. “We stay quiet in the hallway, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry, Mr. Levi!” 

You hold a finger to your lips as if to back up your fellow teacher but still pat Eren’s head as you pass him, continuing on and pointing out all the dismissal spots.

You end the day passing out folders full of papers for parents--a lunch calendar, school events, sign up sheets, how grading works in second grade, etc. The last fifteen minutes are spent with the kids gathered around you on the rug in the corner for storytime--a Junie B. Jones book that _will_ be the only one you read out loud because God, does that little girl get on your nerves. The kids love it, though, and you promise to try to finish it the next day (then, you’ll be able to move on to something a little more stimulating).

Only one kid wanders off during dismissal, Reiner, but before he can get too far, Marcel brings it to your attention, and you’re able to wrangle the blond back in, making him walk next to you until he’s safely deposited in the bus rider line where he belongs. He pouts like he’s in trouble, but you crouch to get on his level and assure him that all you want is for him to be safe, and splitting off from the group is _not_ safe.

“M’sorry,” he mumbles with a sniff.

“It’s okay, bud. Just try to watch where those feet are taking you, yeah?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

He latches onto your side in an awkward hug, then shuffles forward when his line starts moving. Sighing, you shake your head. This kid… You have a feeling he’s going to be a handful, even if he doesn’t mean to be. 

Levi is already waiting outside of your classroom when you get back to it, joined by a somewhat androgynous women in tailored slacks, oxfords, and a tucked in button-up. Brown eyes are shining behind thin glasses as she looks at you, and the hand she extends is a little shaky.

“(Y/n)! I’m Hange Zoe, fifth grade!”

And again, that name… Something about it…

You shake the feeling off and take Hange’s hand, further distancing yourself from the odd twisting in your stomach by asking, “Second gets fifth grade buddies later in the year, right?”

“Yeah!” She beams. “Always a good time--helps with yours’ lack of real social skills, and it’s a good refresher for my guys, so--”

A very loud string of noises cuts Hange off, and Levi mutters an apology under his breath while slipping a cell phone out of his back pocket. It’s only when he answers that you realize his ringtone was, in fact, a song, something heavy and unintelligible like the stuff Zeke listens to.

Damn. You forgot to text him. 

“Captain speaking,” Levi greets with a small smirk, pauses as he listens to whoever is on the other line. “Yeah, same place as always… Why, yes, we will be joined by a special guest,” silver eyes flick to you as he says this, and you hold a finger up and unlock your classroom door, striding inside to retrieve your phone.

_**YOU** , 3:29PM  
Hey, are you cool with me going out with some  
new friends?_

_**YOU** , 3:29PM  
I think they’re friends at least_

_**Z** , 3:30PM  
Go for it, baby. I’m still at work. Have fun_

You send a heart emoji then pocket the device, gathering your purse and tote. There isn’t much you need to do in the classroom that you can’t do tomorrow morning before the kids arrive, so with a last once-over, you step out, see your party has increased by one more--a man you recognize as the school secretary. With mousy brown hair, an adorable knit sweater, and a messenger bag thrown over his torso, he stands awfully close to Hange. 

“Moblit Berner,” he nods to you. “I filed your paperwork, but you probably don’t remember.”

“Can’t say that I do,” you tell him honestly, making an apologetic face. “Still nice to meet you, though. Formally.”

“Alright, Smith is meeting us a little later. Hope that’s okay,” Levi announces, beginning to walk toward the exit of the building.

“Oh man, (Y/n)’s meeting the whole crew,” Moblit muses with a soft smile on his face. “All we’re missing is Mike and Nana now.”

Hange leans over and whispers something in his ear that makes him laugh, then you hit the parking lot and split into three different cars, Levi promising to drive slower than usual so that you won’t lose track of him. 

About ten minutes later, you arrive at a hole-in-the wall Mexican food restaurant, file inside and nod at the hostess who greets the other three by name. 

“Anyone else joining?” She asks as she gathers menus.

“Just one more, but he won’t be here for another half hour or so,” Levi tells her, following when the girl leads the four of you to a table in the corner. 

Chips, queso, and margaritas are ordered, and you all settle into easy conversation. Levi asks more about the “bum-fuck town” you grew up in, and you assure him you did not own a tractor or any livestock, though he rolls his eyes like he doesn’t believe you.

“It wasn’t a farm, dummy,” you tell him through sips of the frozen drink. “It was just small, tight-knit.”

“Mhm.”

You’re able to gather a bit of information about your new co-workers, making your way through various topics as well as an appetizer plate. Hange and Moblit are a couple, having been together for over a decade. 

“Feels like way longer than that, though,” the man offers with a shy grin.

Levi has wanted to teach since he was a child and is apparently damn good at it, winning the district’s Teacher of the Year award three years in a row. 

Hange snorts out what must be some kind of inside joke-- “Humanity’s strongest babysitter,” to which Levi replies with a middle finger. 

Eventually, the last of the group arrives. You don’t see him at first, but you’re able to pick up on a deep voice greeting the hostess, and somehow, you just _know_. Moblit confirms when he perks up in his seat and voices, “Ah, he’s here.”

“Good. I can finally order my fucking entree,” Levi grumbles. “I’m starving.”

Hange gives a short wave, grinning broadly at the new arrival, and you chance a glance over your shoulder at the man approaching only for your breath to hitch in your throat. 

He’s… God, he’s _beautiful_. It’s unnatural, inhuman. For one, he’s tall, over six feet with broad shoulders that make way for a wide chest, tapering down to a trim waist. He’s in a baby blue dress shirt tucked into dark slacks but rolled up to his elbows to display sunkissed, tan skin. The top brings out stunning blue eyes--eyes you could drown in. Eyes you feel like you already _have_ drowned in. Golden hair sweeps over his forehead, all but shining under the light fixtures above him. His face is chiseled and clean shaven, with thick blond eyebrows, a long nose that may have been broken at one point, and full lips that tug into quite possibly the most perfect smile you’ve ever seen.

Your heart hurts looking at him, but you don’t know why, just like you don’t know why you suddenly stand from your seat, right hand clenching into a fist and getting halfway to your own chest before you pause and shake yourself out of whatever fucking trance you’re in. 

The man stops, blinks at you a couple times, and you’re pretty sure you see him take a very deep breath, the muscles in his forearms straining against his skin as he flexes his hands by his sides.

“Uh,” you begin, not understanding what it is you’re feeling, but it’s _something_ , similar to the strange familiarity you’ve shared with both Levi and Hange, only this time it’s about a thousand times stronger, this innate knowledge that you know this man.

Of course, that’s ridiculous. You would never forget a face like that. 

Clearing your throat, you show your best smile, then offer your hand. It’s trembling. “(Y/n). I’m the new teacher at Mitras.”

His fingers are long and warm as they curl around yours, effectively sending a shock down your spine and making you shiver. You don’t know what’s going on, but you’re heavily considering calling your new doctor because this is definitely not normal. 

“Erwin Smith,” he says, voice even deeper now that he’s up close. It washes over you like a heavy, crashing wave. All the breath in your lungs is suddenly gone because you’ve heard that voice. You know you have, _know you have, but fuck, where--_

For whatever reason, perhaps divine intervention trying to save you from yourself, Zeke flashes through your mind, all pale hair and thick-rimmed glasses and handsome, and you finally notice you’re still shaking Erwin’s hand, stuck in some purgatory of gentle up and down motions. You actually laugh at yourself, releasing your grip and turning back to the table to find _everyone staring at you_.

Levi has this devious smirk on his face, hand perched carefully on the unsalted rim of his glass, and beside him, Hange looks manic, nearly vibrating in her chair as she smiles so widely, you’re pretty sure you can see her molars. Moblit simply looks thoughtful, the first to redirect his gaze to the few nachos left on the dish in front of him. 

Erwin takes the empty seat next to Levi, directly across from you, and you’re not sure you can handle looking at him for the entirety of your meal, not sure you’ll be able to form any coherent thoughts when all you have to do is look up in order to meet his eyes. 

“About time you graced us with your presence,” Levi intones, unimpressed. “Hurry up and pick something. I’m pretty sure my stomach has started eating itself. You know kinder lunch is at 10 AM, right?” You watch as he lectures Erwin, shoving a menu into his hands while the blond just chuckles.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting. I had a student stop by my office with a couple questions about the syllabus.”

You cock your head to the side, and it must be enough to get Erwin’s attention because he glances up and elaborates, “I teach at SSU, mostly American lit, but I have a classics course this semester as well.”

“Oh, god, I _loved_ classics,” you gush before you can stop yourself. “Are you starting with _The Iliad_?”

Erwin’s smile is a little lopsided and to _die_ for. “Of course. I feel it eases everyone into the course. They’re more comfortable with it since most were required to read _The Odyssey_ in high school.”

The way he speaks is strangely elegant, posh, like he’s confident in everything that’s coming from his mouth. 

“Yeah, I--I agree. I took it as an elective and just… I don’t know.” And you don’t. You have no idea what you’re trying to say or why you’re trying to talk because you can’t think straight, not with him watching you with those sparkling eyes like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. “I just really enjoyed it.”

“Well, I’m glad. The students you are passionate about it are usually the ones who perform best.”

And oh, you could perform for this man. You could--

Fuck, what is wrong with you? You’re _engaged_.

You swallow and look down at your own menu, inhale deeply in an attempt to slow the rate at which your heart is pounding and still your twitching fingers, eager to close over your chest before it beats straight out of your ribcage. 

The waitress comes back over, greeting “Mr. Smith” with a flirty smile and writing down his order before everyone else’s. You don’t miss the way Levi rolls his eyes before he spouts off his own choosings. Once she walks away, hips swaying a little more than when she first approached, everyone goes back to talking.

Moblit mentions the influx of kids this year and Levi reminds him of the new neighborhood that’s been zoned to the school. 

“I really can’t believe you’re the only new hire, (Y/n). All the higher grade levels are about at their limit of kids," Hange talks around a mouthful of chips and salsa.

“Speaking of kids, how do you like your class?” Levi questions, stirring the last few sips of his drink with the straw it came with.

You shrug your shoulders. “I’m not sure yet. They seem like a good group. I think if I’m gonna have trouble with any of them, it’ll be Ymir and Reiner.”

“Ah, yeah, I had Ymir. She’s mouthy,” Levi nods, but his eyebrow quirks when he asks, “Why Reiner, though?”

“I don’t know. Call it a gut feeling. There’s just something a little off about him.”

Hange nods, mutters something about teachers usually being good at calling things like that. 

“I feel the same way about Eren, actually,” Levi says in an understanding tone, then tacks on a curious, “Who you know…?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling at the thought of the little boy. He’s a spitfire, that’s for sure, but you like him well enough, even if you did only meet him for the first time a week and a half ago. “He’s my fiance’s little brother.”

A few things happen at once: Hange chokes on the chip she just took a bite out of, coughing violently as Moblit slaps her back frantically. Levi drops his now finished margarita, the glass landing on the table roughly, and though it doesn’t break, the sound it makes causes you to startle in your seat. Across from you, Erwin stares, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, neck turning red for some reason.

“You’re engaged to _Zeke Yeager?_ ” Levi asks, voice harsh, and you push your chair back just a bit out of instinct. You don’t know where this reaction is coming from, but you’re not sure you like it.

“Um, yeah? How do you know him?”

Hange pipes up in a hoarse voice, words coming out so quickly and on top of each other, you almost can’t make them out, _“ErenwenttoPreKsowegotfamiliarwiththefamily.”_

“Oh.”

Moblit sounds much more put together when he continues for his partner, “Plus, the Yeagers are fairly well-known here because of Grisha’s status as one of the leading surgeons in the country.”

“Right,” you nod. That checks out. You’re still confused by the fire blazing in Levi’s eyes, though, as you are with the dismayed expression on Erwin’s handsome face. “I guess I’m just surprised he’s talked about Zeke. They’re not super close these days.”

You’re thankful for your food arriving right then, not that you’re all that hungry now. In fact, your stomach is in knots, twisting and turning the way it used to when you’d get scolded as a child. You feel like you’ve done something wrong, but you don’t know _what_ , and everyone is quiet as they start to eat, and Erwin is looking up at you every few seconds with endless blue eyes full of all kinds of emotions that you _do not understand_ , and why can’t you get rid of this sick feeling, _why why why_ \-- You want to go back to talking about school or the works of Homer or anything, but it’s quiet at the table save for the scraping of silverware and Hange’s sizzling fajita platter. 

Eventually, Moblit breaks the awkward silence by asking, “Did you always want to be a teacher, (Y/n)?”

You’re in the middle of chewing, so you wave a hand back and forth in front of you as if to say ‘yes and no’. After swallowing, you’re able to answer, “I didn’t really get interested in it until high school. I had a little job as a babysitter for some family friends, would help them with homework and stuff, and it just felt nice to be able to guide them and be there for them. I developed that big ‘I can make a difference in the system dream’ that all new teachers have, and even though I know better now, I figure if I can help just a few kids, that’s enough.”

“And, what does _Zeke_ do?” Levi questions, scoffing when you tell him he was lucky enough to find a job in his field at a local brewery. He mutters lowly, something that sounds suspiciously like, “Of all the pretentious bullshit…” and earning one of Erwin’s elbows in his ribs.

“Look, I don’t know what Grisha and Carla have said about him,” you start, defenses rising to a point you can’t ignore anymore, “But he’s a good guy. He works hard and makes sure we’re well taken care of, which helps since we all know teachers don’t make shit. He’s even about to start coaching Eren’s little league team, played in college and--”

“Lemme guess. He was a pitcher?”

You frown at the brunet but nod because yes, yes he was, one of the best in the league actually. He even had a few scouts after him. 

“Typical.”

“Levi,” Erwin speaks, and his voice is strangely authoritative, makes you sit up straighter in your seat. In fact, everyone sits up a little straighter, even the man next to him. “Be polite.” He sounds a lot like a parent chastising a child, but it seems to work for the most part. 

“My bad,” Levi offers you. “I’m just cranky, I guess.”

You force a smile, still not entirely convinced. Who knows what Zeke’s parents have said about him. Grisha probably thinks him ungrateful, and Carla no doubt favors her biological child, so there’s a very large chance Levi has gotten biased information. All you can do is prove the small man otherwise. 

Erwin tosses you an apologetic look, and your pulse stutters. You are suddenly very tired and very ready to go home, grateful you drove yourself to the restaurant because now all you need is a to-go box and to pay, which you do.

“Thank you guys for inviting me out.” You mean it, even if you are a little uncomfortable at this point.

“For sure!” Hange chirps happily. “Let’s make it a regular thing, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.” It would be nice to have a solid group of friends, especially so soon after the move. Zeke has some childhood friends from the area that he immediately reconnected with, already having spent more than a few hours gaming together with the promise of a new D&D campaign ( _“Just like old times,”_ Zeke had told you with a wistful smile.) You suppose as long as you can get rid of Levi’s aggressive opinion of your fiance, you would enjoy spending more time with him and his friends.

Erwin may pose a problem, though. You’re not sure you can justify getting any closer to a man you’re very obviously already attracted to, at least on a superficial level. It would be wrong. Just like him walking you to your car in the parking lot is wrong, and yet--

“Hey, sorry about Levi,” he says as the door to the restaurant closes behind the both of you. “Despite him being a kindergarten teacher, he struggles with, uh, _hospitality_.”

“He did mention liking kids more than adults,” you comment, mouth pulling up into a smile. 

Erwin laughs, and it’s beautiful and low and over too soon. “He’s honest, at least.”

“Gotta give him that.” 

You arrive at your car, a little two door that you set the to-go bag on top of, then face Erwin to find him staring at you with such an unreadable expression, it makes it hard to breathe. His eyebrows are pinched as if he’s in pain, and his mouth opens and closes, like he’s trying to say something but can’t find the words. Finally he swallows, blinks, then extends his hand for you to take. Again, you’re met with that electric feeling, a warm tingle traveling down your spine and settling in your tailbone. 

“It was nice meeting you, (Y/n),” he says, the first time you’ve heard your name roll off his tongue, but it doesn’t feel like the first time, not even a little bit. It sounds good, like it’s meant to be there, hanging between the two of you. 

“You too, Erwin.” The same sense. Meant to be there. You wonder… You wonder if he’s experiencing the same thing, this strange nostalgia for something that never existed.

Something that never can exist. You’re being utterly ridiculous. 

Erwin blesses you with another thousand-watt grin, takes a step back and tells you, “Drive safe,” then turns and walks back to the building.

Inside your car, door closed and hands gripping the steering wheel, tears prick the backs of your eyes, slowly filling and overflowing to run over your cheeks in streams.

 _I’m just overwhelmed,_ you tell yourself. _There’s so much going on. I’m not thinking straight. I just need to relax._

It’s only when you pull into your apartment complex that you’re hit with the epiphany that Erwin Smith bears a striking resemblance to The Commander you dreamt about the night before, the one you’ve been dreaming of for as long as you can remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo i don't know shit about classics, and the only knowledge of elementary school i have is from my mom teaching kindergarten, so bear with me.


	3. i feel your hand slip through my fingers once again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> flashbacks are marked with a [~] at the beginning. Here, have some Erwin angst.

◇

“I’m going to die. I am _currently_ dying, just withering away, body, mind, and soul--”

“God, you’re so fucking dramatic in this life,” Levi interrupts Erwin’s whining. “I liked you better when you were constantly at war with yourself, fighting for humanity or whatever.”

 _Or whatever_. There was nothing _whatever_ about that life. 

Erwin rolls his eyes, finishes the rest of the scotch in his glass then leans forward and places it on the coffee table. He plays with the idea of refilling it but figures he’s had enough for the night, no need to get any sloppier than he already is. 

“You don’t mean that, Levi. You don’t miss those days any more than I do, which is to say, not at all.”

“I mean, I could go for a good titan slay right about now. Working with brats all day is extremely fucking frustrating. It’d be nice to let off some steam.”

"I'm actually right there with ya'," Mike agrees, walking from Erwin's kitchen to the den and falling into the plush loveseat. Flicking long bangs from his face, he continues, the southern twang he acquired in this life licking at every word. "I don't wanna go back or anything, but I wouldn't mind strappin' on some ODM gear and goin' for a ride, you know?" 

"God, I miss the gear," Nanaba whines, perching on Mike's armrest, a beer in one hand and a pretzel rod in the other that she waves around as she speaks. "I was so much more toned on the island. Now I'm--"

"Still stunning," Mike interrupts, smiling softly when Nana twists to look at him. 

Erwin rolls his eyes at the same time Levi fakes a dry heave, doubling over on the couch and gagging a little too convincingly. Mike and Nana are painfully cute, and usually Erwin is nothing but happy for them, given this second chance to be together without the threat of a grizzly death hanging over their heads, but right at this very moment, he'd rather not see his friends' blushing cheeks and bedroom eyes. It's just a little much when his own heart is so sore. 

And God, is it sore--chafed and raw, battered and bruised because he finally, _finally_ saw you, sat at the same table and talked, and you're just as beautiful and brilliant as you were in the past, still radiate that warm energy that he just couldn't stay away from no matter how hard he tried, how hard he pushed you away and told himself it was for the best. A man like him didn't deserve the affections of such a compassionate woman. He didn't deserve your kindness or your patience because he was a monster, and you were so pure, so good and bright and… loved. You were _so_ loved. By everyone but especially by him. 

"Oh, we lost him again," Mike's low tone barely registers in Erwin's mind, but Levi's pale hand waving in front of his face is enough to snap him out of his spiral of self-loathing. 

“Hm? No, I’m--” Erwin scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m here. Just thinking.”

Nanaba gives him the worst look, this soft, motherly expression, like she wants nothing more than to tuck Erwin into bed and sing him a lullaby. It’s _almost_ as bad as the look Levi is giving him. Almost. Those gunmetal eyes are hooded as usual, but there’s emotion swirling in them, and paired with the little sigh he lets out, Erwin can tell exactly what that emotion is: pity.

Well, that just won’t do.

“I’ll be fine,” Erwin states, putting as much conviction into his voice as he can muster. He shakes his head as if it will get rid of the fog left by the liquor, sits up a little straighter and flashes a small smile. “Like you said, Levi: I’m just being dramatic.”

“Tch, damn right you are, old man.”

Levi can grumble and tease all he wants. Erwin knows he’s hurting too, even if only a little. 

Because he was close with you. You had become something of a little sister to the captain, especially after Isabel’s death. Your relationship may have been based mostly off of smart-aleck jabs and difficult training, but it was still a relationship. One you don’t remember. You don’t remember anything, not clearly at least.

But there is _some_ memory within you. Everyone saw it when you stood from the table at Erwin’s arrival the day before. Hell, you had nearly saluted him, standing rigid with a clenched fist rising to your chest until you seemed to shake yourself out of it, probably immensely confused. All Erwin could do at that point was grin. Your brain may be foggy, but… Your body remembers. It has to; there’s no other explanation.

“I’m curious about how she’ll react to Mike,” Levi comments. “Don’t know when you’ll meet, but when you do…”

The scruffy man shrugs, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Only time’ll tell. Won’t just be me, though. She and Nana were close, too.”

“Yeah, but--” Nanaba smooths some hair out of his face, smiles down at him. “You were her squad leader. You know she adored you.”

“She _looked up_ to me. She adored Erwin.”

That refill of scotch is looking better and better as time passes, and Erwin eyes the glass from where he’s slumped on the couch. He drums his fingers on his thigh, tries to blink away memories from another life, but the more his friends talk about you, the more vivid they become. Mike, Nana, and Levi fall into easy reminiscing, and after a few minutes of fighting it, Erwin allows himself to as well.

~

“State your name, soldier,” Erwin commands, peering down at you. 

You’re standing straight, feet shoulder-width apart with an arm across your chest and the other behind your back. A perfect salute. He can see that you have a face made of delicate features, even when schooled into a determined frown, and you call out your first and last name, followed by a respectful, “Sir!”

“And, where are you from, soldier?”

“I’m from Ragako village, sir! Just inside of Wall Rose!”

Erwin hums, analyzing everything he can, just like he does with every new soldier. He can usually tell which ones will make it through their first expeditions, which ones will fight literal tooth and nail to live, which ones will die for the cause, and he sees that in you. No doubt about it. There is a fire in your eyes as you stare straight ahead, blazing and furious.

“What makes you want to fight the Titans?” Erwin finds himself asking. He’s aware that you’ve been asked the same question countless times by Shadis, but he wants to know. He wants to hear it. What has you looking so resolute? Is it the simple threat of dying, or is it something more?

Finally, you allow your gaze to lock with Erwin’s, and you tell him without any hesitance, “My parents were both Scouts, sir! They died for humanity, and I wish to fight for the same cause!”

Erwin stares, knows most soldiers would shiver under his scrutiny, but you don’t. No, you just let your jaw slide forward and clench your fist tighter over your heart. 

Your parents. He wonders if he knew them, if he fought with them, or if they were before his time. You seem quite a bit younger than Erwin himself, but age doesn’t play a large role in a world like this, not when you could perish at any time. Not when the Titans could find a way to infiltrate the walls. 

He can ask you about it some other time, or maybe get someone else to. Erwin doesn’t want to learn too much about you, though, doesn’t want to get too attached to any of the new recruits, no matter how determined they seem. Still, he’s sincere when he tells you, “I’m glad to have you in my ranks, then. You’ll make a fine soldier.”

“Thank you, sir! I’ll do my very best!”

Erwin offers a very subtle, very quick smile, then moves down the line to the young man beside you. 

“State your name, soldier.”

◇

The evening ends with Mike, Nanaba, and Levi leaving Erwin’s home, all offering sympathetic pats on the back that have Erwin’s skin crawling. He doesn’t want them feeling sorry for him. Yes, the situation isn’t ideal, but he has hope. He’s always had hope. 

He _also_ has quizzes to grade, though ‘grade’ is a loose term. It was just a general knowledge assessment, see where he’s starting with all his classes this semester, so Erwin asks for a few short answers over reading history. They’re tedious to skim through, but he thinks the information about his students is worth knowing, so he grabs the paperclipped stacks from his bag and settles on to the couch once again. Music is playing on his phone, atmospheric and calming, and he’s able to get through a whole class before he’s distracted by the device buzzing on the coffee table.

He expects an email or maybe a pick-me-up text from Levi (something crass that will make Erwin laugh), but it’s neither. Instead, he sees a notification from Facebook, a friend request. From you.

Erwin stares at the banner across his screen for longer than necessary, heart thudding hard enough to hear. He’s not big on social media, has this single profile per Hange’s request. It’s come in handy for keeping up with distant friends and past students, but he’s not particularly active on it other than that. His profile picture is from two years ago, for Christ’s sake, taken by Nanaba at a party for Hange's birthday, which is actually coming up again now that he thinks about it, and he really should--

Erwin takes a deep breath and clicks on the link, accepting the request. He knows it will probably just lead to further heartache, but this is a chance--this is you reaching out to him. _Why_ , he’s not entirely sure, but he’ll take it. He’ll take anything you’ll give him, heartache or not.

Speaking of, Erwin immediately spots the man in your picture, blond with glasses and a beard. Against his better judgment, he clicks on it, already resigning himself to at least half an hour of going through your profile. _Facebook-stalking_ , he remembers Hange calling it when Mike had first found Nanaba. _What a time to be alive_. 

You’re both dressed up in the photo. You have on a nice pale pink blouse tucked into a floral skirt, white sandals, hair up and out of your beautiful face, and your smile… Can Erwin actually handle this? The question weighs heavily as he takes in the man beside you in a light blue button up and dark wash jeans. What looks to be shaggy hair is pushed out of his face, and his mouth is pulled up on one side in a satisfied smile, like he’s all-too happy to be photographed with you. Who wouldn’t be?

Eyes darting down to the bottom up the page, Erwin sees the tag list, reads _Zeke Yeager_ and feels a little nauseous. 

So, that’s his true face. The Beast Titan. The one who ultimately killed Erwin in Paradis. His stomach rolls a little violently, and he exits out of the picture and back to your main profile. Your basic information lists where you’re from--the little town you had briefly told Erwin about yesterday--as well as your birthday. You’re 26 now, six years his junior, but that’s less of a gap than on the island. Back then, it had been nearly ten. 

He scrolls some, looks at your most recent statuses--moving to the city, a picture of you and Zeke standing in front of what must be your new apartment complex with the caption _‘It’s like we’re actual adults!’_ Erwin smirks and keeps going. A teacher appreciation post, a string of articles about a video game featuring cute, bipedal animals, a recipe you’ve tagged (who Erwin assumes is) your mother in. The posts are sporadic, some made the same day, but some have weeks between them. Zeke is mentioned in more than a few, making Erwin’s mouth twitch downward every time. 

He has to wonder how that came to be. How and why did you find each other? You had been right there with Erwin during that suicide charge. The only difference was that you hadn’t _died_ in it. Levi says you had hated that monster just as much as he had, so ending up with him in this life… It doesn’t make sense.

Even more troubling is that there’s a chance Zeke remembers everything. Levi will find out whether or not he does, probably sooner rather than later; Eren is in his class this year, so he may make contact with the older Yeager brother, and when he does, well, Erwin hopes he’s there to hold the former captain back lest he get _arrested_. 

Erwin keeps scrolling. Of course he does. He wants to learn more, wants to get to your life before Zeke, before college, before--

He stops, breath catching as he lands on a status and picture from nearly a decade ago, a photo that looks to be taken in a school courtyard of you and two others, two others Erwin recognizes immediately, even through the teenage features and unfamiliar clothes--a somewhat scrawny male with a leather jacket and dark mohawk, and a curvy girl with curly red hair and a beauty mark by her full lips. God, even so young, they look the same: Nile and Marie. 

Erwin feels tears prick his eyes, clears his throat even though he’s alone, then he places his phone face down on his leg. Running hands over his face, he groans. He hurts. _Everything_ hurts. His head and his heart and his _bones_. He may have found some of his closest friends, but God, he misses everyone else so much. It’s unbearable some days. Everything about this is unbearable. 

Everyone is connected somehow. He hasn’t figured out how--fate or a miracle or _what_ , but it’s true. Some things from the old world are the same, like the names of people and certain cities. Sometimes, Erwin thinks some greater being just picked Paradis up and dropped it smack in the middle of this continent. There’s New York and Los Angeles and Austin, but there’s also Mitras and Stohess and Trost. Ages are different--Gelgar is fucking _ten_ right now--but everyone still possesses aspects of their former selves. Mike has kept his incredible sense of smell. Hange is every bit as passionate about science as she was before. And, Levi is still Levi, through and through. Erwin’s right hand and best friend. 

So, what’s the same about you? What did you lose, and what did you keep?

You’re still very bold, Erwin learns about a minute later when your name pops up in Messenger. Again, he’s struck dumb, just breathing and blinking down at the message: _Hey, I know this is weird but…_

He has to open it to read the whole thing, and he is not disappointed when he does. 

**You:** _Hey, I know this is weird, but could you possibly send me your reading lists for your classes? Aside from teaching, I don’t have a lot to do these days, and I’d love to revisit some old favorites. If not, it’s totally cool. I know it’s out of left field. I just figured I’d give it a shot._

Erwin beams, a warm feeling swelling within him. You were a reader in Paradis, another trait you’ve obviously kept. 

**Erwin:** _It isn’t weird at all! I can definitely send you the list if you give me a minute. Also, I have all of the books, so if you’d like to borrow them, you’re more than welcome to. I can easily pass them off to Levi._

 **You:** _Seriously? That would be so great! I would really appreciate it. I promise to take good care of them. (:_

Erwin has to get up to grab a couple syllabi out of his bag, takes quick pictures of the pages that list every piece his students are required to read, then sends them to you. 

**You:** _Oh, man! I haven’t even thought of some of these in years! For the record, though, I will not be reading Edith Hamilton’s ‘Mythology’._

**Erwin:** _I actually do not blame you. I don’t understand how an author could take a subject so fascinating and turn it into something so dreadfully boring._

**You:** _Right?! It took me all summer to get through. I read ‘Dune’ faster than that. Do you know how dense freaking ‘Dune’ is?_

**Erwin:** _Extremely. Enjoyable, but very, very dense. It seems like every line in that first book is important in one way or another._

**You:** _Exactly. I was sort of exhausted after reading it. It’s amazing, but dang. A little much for a high-schooler. Was not prepared._

The next twenty minutes are spent messaging back and forth about various classic books, and Erwin finds himself grinning and chuckling through every one of them. This is good. This is progress. This means he won’t have to wait months to figure out how to talk to you again. You gave him a reason, and a damn good one.

 **You:** _So, I have to ask, why classics?_

Erwin considers this for a moment--the _truth_ , then decides, why not?

 **Erwin:** _Well, I’ve always had a vivid imagination. I spent most of my childhood dreaming up worlds and battles and monsters, and when I got to senior high school, I was introduced to the classic epics. They sort of… I don’t know how to put it. I suppose they filled a creative void, if that makes any sense._

These stories really are the closest things to his own history. Of _course_ he was going to fixate on things like the battle between Olympians and Titans. The subject basically sang to Erwin, calling his name like some kind of sign. 

He was seventeen when he got his memories back, wise for his age and convinced he was going insane. He had notebooks full of his dreams, little sayings scrawled in the margins of his school notebooks like ‘ _wings of freedom_ ’ and ‘ _shinzo wo sasageyo_ ’. There were countless doodles of a pattern he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how hard he tried, what he later learned to be his long-distance scouting formation. It was everywhere. He couldn’t escape it. 

It was breaking his arm that did it--a car accident that left him with both the radius and ulna of his right arm fractured. He had to have surgery to get rods and pins put into both, and when he woke up, he just… Remembered. 

Mike was sitting in a chair by the window of his hospital room, and all it took was one, wide-eyed look from Erwin for the older boy to figure it out. He had sniffed, smiled, and mumbled, _“Welcome back, Commander,”_ to which Erwin laughed so hard, he ended up crying. 

Maybe the same will happen for you. Erwin hopes it won’t take an injury to jog your memory, but hopefully something will. 

**You:** _Dreams of monsters, you say? Haha, I have those too. I guess brains are funny that way._

 _Yes_ , Erwin thinks. _The memories are there, buried so deep they don’t even feel real._ They’re masked as dreams and fantasies, but they’re there. 

**Erwin:** _I guess they are. (-;_  


~

The first time Erwin comes to, everything is blurry. He can vaguely feel something damp beneath him, cloth clinging to his legs. There’s dim, glowing light, a faint scribbling noise to his right, and the outline of a figure hunched over. 

His head pounds, though, urging him to close his eyes once again, so he does. 

When he wakes for a second time, things are a bit clearer, mostly due to the throbbing in his arm. It sobers him quickly, makes him groan out loud, and without thinking, he raises his left hand to clutch the other limb, ends up with a handful of… Nothing.

Erwin looks down, swallows thickly, and feels his stomach roll. Bandages, red with blood, covering what’s left of his arm--just his shoulder and bicep. It’s--he can’t even process it, even as he remembers what happened, he can’t believe it. 

“Commander?” 

He raises his gaze once again, finds you sitting at a small table in the corner turned toward him, brows pinched together in concern. “Uh, g-glad to see you’re awake. Can I get you anything?”

Erwin just stares, knows he’s scowling, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s groggy but overwhelmed, glad to be alive, but so, so angry. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not to him at least. How is he supposed to lead his army like this? How is he supposed to fight the Titans?

“Water,” he says, voice hoarse.

He wants to scream, throw the blankets off his legs, smash the vase on your desk into the wall, but he can’t. He can’t because he should be grateful. He lives to see another day, thanks to _your_ quick thinking. You’re who cut him down. You’re who saved his life. 

Opening his mouth to say something, anything, Erwin stops short, notices how stiffly you’re moving, favoring your left side with a hand over your ribs. 

“What happened?” He asks.

You get to the sink on the far end of the infirmary, don’t turn when you ask, “You don’t remember?”

“No, I,” Erwin coughs, and the force only makes his arm hurt worse. “I remember what happened to me. I’m asking what happened to _you_.” He motions with his left hand. 

“Oh,” you quietly shuffle back over with a glass and hand it to him. “It’s nothing.”

Erwin says your name in a warning tone because the longer he thinks about the expedition, the rescue mission, the clearer it becomes, and he’s pretty sure he remembers _both_ of you falling from that Titan’s mouth. 

“Were you injured in the fall?” He presses, expression severe. 

You sigh and nod. “I tried to take the worst of it and ended up with a shoulder to the ribs.” Chuckling through your nose, you shake your head. “Didn’t feel it at the time, but I sure did once we got back inside the walls.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’s’not your fault,” you reply, and Erwin looks away when you take a seat at the end of his bed. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

The sincerity pains him in a way a missing limb never could. You were really fine with putting yourself in harm’s way if it meant Erwin was safe. It’s so, so foolish, but it’s also so _you_. You’ve been this way since he met you, can’t count how many times you’ve leapt off your horse to help another soldier or turned back in the forest of giant trees. It’s maddening, drives Erwin up the wall because, despite the fact that everyone’s lives are constantly at stake, he can’t bear to think of you dying one day. The mere idea makes him sick to his stomach, has kept him awake some nights, but whenever he reprimands you, all you do is remind him that every soldier is important to their cause.

It’s even more personal this time, though. This time, you turned back for him. This time, you risked your life for him. This time, you got hurt because of him. 

“Let me see,” Erwin states lowly, nodding toward you.

You bite your lip, still holding your side, and tell him, “It’s bandaged, sir.”

He meets your eyes again, clearly not thinking straight when he reiterates, “I’d like to see what I did to you.”

“You didn’t do anything,” you sigh, shrugging out of your jacket. Your maroon shirt hangs looser on you than it did before. Funding for the Scouting legion has dipped again, and everyone’s had to cut back on rations. Yet another wave of guilt crashes over Erwin, vision going blurry with furious tears he refuses to let fall. Blinking them away, he focuses on your hands at the hem of your shirt. 

He sucks in a breath when you tug it upward, revealing mostly smooth skin save for a couple of scars here and there. Erwin is vaguely aware that what he’s asking you to do is wildly inappropriate. The two of you have a closer relationship than he does with any of the other soldiers your rank, but you’re still his subordinate, one he cares about far too much. 

You hook your top over your shoulder, and Erwin takes in the bandages wrapped around your torso. There isn’t much you can do for broken ribs other than ice and rest. 

“You really shouldn’t have them wrapped,” Erwin comments. 

“I don’t all the time, but I feel a little more stable this way.”

He’s still staring, questions, “How long?” You tilt your head to the side, and Erwin tries not to think about how endearing it is in his slightly foggy state. “Since you took the bandages off.”

“Um, this morning, sir.”

Judging by the navy sky through the window, Erwin can guess it’s well into the evening, which means--

He says your name, a little exasperated now, takes another sip of water before setting the glass on the table next to your bed. “Come here.”

You scoot closer on the thin mattress, cheeks darkening, and Erwin can’t blame you. He can see the band all the female soldiers wear over their chests, the swell of your breasts underneath, not to mention all the other exposed skin. It isn’t right, but you trust him. He’s your commander. 

Reaching forward with his remaining arm, Erwin untucks the end of the wrap from beneath another layer, slowly begins unraveling it with your help. You wince with the movement, suck on your teeth and scrunch your face up. He’s able to see the beginnings of the bruise on your side, darker than the rest of your skin with the blood pooled at the surface. The last few bands of white loosen and pool around your waist, and you look away with a flushed face and your lip tight between your teeth.

Erwin is still processing his own new handicap, but this is somehow more alarming. The bruise is very large, spanning the length of your torso, and very dark. He did this to you. This happened because he wasn’t paying attention, knowing well that if anything were to happen to him, you would come for him, would sacrifice yourself for him. How could he have been so _stupid_?

You hiss when Erwin brushes calloused fingers over your side. He’s gentle, but it was still a surprise, causes you to flinch and whimper. He feels very feverish all of a sudden, body warming dangerously. It could be infection brewing, or it could be his hopeless affection toward you. He's never touched you like this before. The most he's allowed is a friendly shoulder pat, or a hand between your shoulder blades as you walk from his office to the mess hall. He can't let it go any further. He _can't_. 

Yet, here he is, feather light, trailing up your side, and you're letting him, eyes going dark but endless with emotion. You're devoted to him. He knows you are. You have been for years now. 

“I’m… I’m so sorry about your arm,” you say in a shaky voice, sniffling after. You reach up to wipe your eyes, but Erwin catches your hand, brings it to his own face and places your open palm over his cheek. He needs to shave, can feel the itch of stubble, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to without the help of someone else. His pride is going to take a massive hit, but… He’s alive. That’s what matters. That _has_ to matter.

“Don’t be,” he rumbles, turning into your hand and placing a soft kiss to the middle of it, right over your head and heart lines. 

He has to make it matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just... have so many feelings.


	4. and what was left was just a momentary warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to reiterate, ages are messed up in this (examples being Gelgar and the Galliard bros). Also, I make a seizure reference/joke that might be kinda offensive, but I'm epileptic so I feel like I can whoops). **another warning, a kid loses a tooth in this chapter, so TW for blood**

◈

“Okay, um, I guess I’m gonna knock on the door,” you hear as you walk into the living room.

“There’s no answer.”

“Is it locked?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I can use my lockpicking set!”

“Porco, are you even proficient with it?”

“No, but, like, I can try, can’t I?”

Zeke sighs, waves a hand and mutters, “Go ahead, but you have disadvantge.”

The sound of a dice hitting and rolling over the table echoes through the apartment, and the ginger boy mumbles, “Fifteen… and nineteen, ha! Does it pass?”

Zeke stays quiet, scratches his beard, then tells him, “Yeah, it passes. Go ahead and open the door.” From what you can gather, the party proceeds. Then you're able to hear the smile in your fiance’s voice when he says, “Roll for initiative.”

“Oh, god dammit!”

You snort as you shuffle into the kitchen, shaking your head as the music playing from Zeke’s laptop changes to something much more upbeat and frantic. You recognize it from one of his favorite video games. Good choice. 

This is the second Dungeons and Dragons session he’s hosted, inviting three of his old friends over who introduced him to one of _their_ friends, so there are four in all--Colt, Porco, Pieck, and Yelena. They all seem nice enough. Porco gets loud sometimes which must run in the family because his little brother, Marcel, is the same way in your class. That had been a cute epiphany for the both of you. 

What you're _not_ a huge fan of are both of the girls at the table making eyes at Zeke, but it’s something you’ve grown used to over years of being with him. Zeke is hot, intelligent, and witty. It does not surprise you in the least to find other females checking him out. It just ruffles your feathers a bit knowing he dated one of said girls while in high school. Still, you're comfortable in your relationship, feeling only a _little_ petty when you pad into the den after you’ve got your drink of water, standing behind Zeke and glancing over his DM notes. 

“What’s up, baby?” He asks, craning his neck to look at you.

You shrug. “Just listening in. How’s it going?”

“Fucking awful,” Porco whines, hands in his slicked back hair. “We’re not leveled up enough for this.”

“Should have thought about that before just barging in,” Zeke smirks at him, then adds, “I have faith. Play it smart, and you’ll be able to make it out alive.”

“Since when have we ever played it smart?” Colt asks sarcastically. 

Chuckling, you lean down and place a quick kiss on the top of Zeke’s head, humming contentedly when he leans back to catch your lips. He smiles up at you when you pull away, and, out of the corner of your eye, you see Pieck look away and pout. 

“Alright, I’m back to grading,” you announce. “Y’all have fun.” 

There is no shame as Zeke smacks you right on the ass, making you turn and glare playfully before leaving the room just in time to hear a whistle followed by Porco commenting, “Damn, bro, your girl is hot.”

Zeke makes a noise of offense, barks at the younger boy, “Hey, you keep your beady eyes to your fuckin’ self!”

At least you’re not the only one who’s a little territorial. 

The new apartment has a spare bedroom that you’ve turned into a study of sorts. You’ve pushed a desk against one wall, the other two taken up by bookshelves that are already overflowing. Your favorite glider is nestled in a corner, and you pick up the papers you left on it and take your seat, grabbing the little lapdesk from the ground and resuming your work. It’s really first grade material, review for the first couple weeks of school so that the kids can get reacclimated. You make corrections, draw a happy face when they get most or all questions correct, then pause when your phone dings with a text.

It’s Levi, somehow coming off just as gruff via message as he does face to face. 

**LEVI, 8:47PM**  
_Drinks tomorrow. Be there or be_

**LEVI, 8:47PM**  
_Wildly unfulfilled_

**YOU, 8:48PM**  
_Uh, I believe the saying is ‘be there or be square'._

**LEVI, 8:49PM**  
_Not anymore it’s not_

**YOU, 8:50PM**  
_Fine. Same group as last time?_

It takes a few minutes for Levi to reply, and you chew on your bottom lip, hoping you weren’t too obvious. What you’re really asking is if Erwin will be there.

For completely innocent reasons, of course. You just finished a book of Hellenistic epics and are ready to swap it out and possibly talk about it. He really is very knowledgeable (obviously, if he teaches the subject) as well as extremely nice. You’ve talked to him a couple times since that initial Facebook conversation, but you’re trying not to make a habit of it. It’s not that you don’t trust yourself, but you definitely don’t want him to get the wrong impression. 

**LEVI, 8:56PM**  
_Yeah. Petra might come too_

**YOU, 8:56PM**  
_From 1st grade?_

**LEVI, 8:57PM**  
_Yep_

You’ve only seen the woman in question in passing, but she looks nice, has a kind, friendly voice when talking to her kids in the hallway.

**YOU, 9:01PM**  
_Wait, why are we drinking on a Wednesday?_

**LEVI, 9:02PM**  
_Because Thursday is open house and we need to prepare ourselves_

He’s got a point. Open House wasn’t terrible at your old school, but a lot of preparation went into it, usually only for just a handful of parents to show up. You wonder what the turnout will be like at a bigger school and start a mental list of everything you need to get done between now and then.

◈

A high-pitched screech has your head whipping in the noise's direction, the far left table that sits four of your most disruptive students.

“What?!” You nearly yell, rushing over as Mina scrambles out of her chair, her little finger pointing at Reiner who has a hand clamped over his mouth. 

“He’s--he’s--” She can’t even finish as fat tears roll down her face.

You’re down on one knee in an instant, right in front of the little blond boy with a hand on his shoulder. “What happened, Reiner?”

His own eyes are watering as they dart around the room. Every child is standing up and trying to get a good view, and you come to the realization that they do _not_ need to see this as you notice red seeping out from Reiner’s palm.

Still, you relax a bit once you put the pieces together, sigh as you pull his hand away from his mouth. “Reiner, I told you not to pull that tooth. It wasn’t loose enough.” Said tooth falls from his palm onto the table in front of him.

“‘m sorry,” he says regretfully. Blood is dripping down his chin and onto his shirt, and you grimace, reaching over to the box of tissue on your desk and pulling a few out. “It was really bothering me.”

It’s one of his top central incisors. Reiner showed it to you early this morning, wriggling it a little too roughly considering it was barely loose in the first place. You told him to wait, to be more gentle so that it wouldn’t hurt when the time came to pull it, but that advice had obviously fallen on deaf ears. He must have yanked it, no way it felt good. 

You cringe as you press the kleenex to his mouth, wiping red from his chin and bottom lip. Those tears are threatening to spill over, close, so close, so--

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t--didn’t m-mean to!” There it is. Reiner is huffing and hiccupping and whimpering in that way only children do. 

“Sh, sh, sh, it’s okay, bud, I was just worried. Here,” you put his hand over the makeshift gauze. “Hold that in place, and we’ll go to the nurse, okay?” His shoulders are shaking, but he nods and stands up, immediately grabbing your hand. 

You tell all the nosy kids to get back in their seats-- “Sit on your pockets,”-- and that you’ll be grabbing the teacher next door to keep an eye on them so they need to behave. Then, you’re making your way through the halls to the little office that is becoming frighteningly familiar to you. Honestly, between Annie constantly skinning her knees and elbows on the playground, Bert’s sensitive stomach, and Reiner simply _being_ Reiner, you and the nurse are already on a first name basis. 

Once you drop him off and explain what happened to the older woman, you tell the little boy that you’ll see him back in class once he’s taken care of, though you have to spend another five minutes assuring him that you’re not angry with him.

Looking into glossy, amber eyes, you’re struck with that feeling again, the one you’ve been experiencing off and on since moving. It’s dizzying, a full body knowledge that you’ve done this before, or maybe said the same thing at some point, like deja vu but… different. 

It’s actually starting to get annoying. You zone out so often these days, people are going to start thinking you’re epileptic. Levi had to physically snap in front of your face earlier in the week when you spent your lunch in his classroom, entertained by the five-year-olds _trying_ to color then dropping your sandwich in your lap when you heard Eren call a tiny blond girl his “queen”. Levi had chalked it up as a little crush, but it struck you as something else, something you just couldn’t shake, hence the snapping. 

You’re getting pretty fed up with it at this point, and paired with your increasingly vivid nightmares, you’re also beginning to get extremely tired. 

No time for fatigue, though. You have things to do, like teach a class and go out drinking which is exactly what you do after getting your room just a little more ready for the event that’s to take place tomorrow night.

After that, though, you’re on your way to the same restaurant you went to that first day, the volume in your car turned up in hopes that the loud music will drown out your pounding heart and racing thoughts. On some level, you know it’s wrong to be as giddy as you are--a sly voice in the back of your head that makes little jabs at your consciousness. 

_You like Erwin. You think he’s attractive. Keep it up, and it’s going to get out of hand._

But, you ignore it because no, you’re an engaged woman. You’re committed to Zeke, want to spend the rest of your life with him. Objectively speaking, Erwin is handsome, yes, but that’s it. There’s nothing more to it, and you’re allowed to notice other people. Zeke does it fairly often when the two of you are out in public, and it’s okay. It’s natural, would be unrealistic to believe neither of you would look at other people. So, this is okay. It’s fine. 

You think it is, anyway, until you’re in the little building and Erwin looks up from the conversation at hand, eyes so blue even from this distance, perfect hair parted to one side, and that grin-- _God_ , it feels like you’re getting punched in the gut, all the air leaving your lungs as your stomach rolls. 

_It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fi--_

But, then he’s pulling out the empty chair next to him and gesturing for you to sit. You let out a long exhale but smile, a mantra of _it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine_ just playing over and over until the words don’t actually sound like words anymore. 

“How are you today?” Erwin asks as you lower yourself into the seat, hanging your purse over the back. His voice is just as deep as you remember, mouth pulling into a friendly close-lipped smile. There’s an intoxicating scent wafting off of him, a cologne that’s somehow both sweet like dessert and sharp like cedar. It leaves your head swimming, and you vaguely imagine shoving your face right into his neck to smell it, but you can’t because that would be _fucking crazy_. 

“I, uh, I’m fine. A little tired, but what else is new?” You chuckle through your nose then perk up as a new thought crosses your mind and you twist once again to open your purse and procure Erwin’s book. “Thanks for letting me borrow that. I had fun re-reading it.”

“Oh, good! What’s next on the list then?”

You squint as if thinking hard, tap your chin with a finger, then smile at him. “I’m thinking I’ll switch to American lit for the next one.”

“May I suggest To Kill a Mockingbird?”

Snorting, you shake your head. “Read that one for about the twentieth time last month. Let’s go back a little further.”

“Gatsby.”

“Further.”

Erwin rolls his eyes, but he’s obviously amused, waves a hand as he says, “House of the Seven Gables,” in a determined voice.

You point at him, suck your teeth, and nod. “Now you’re talkin’.”

“Really?” He sits back in his chair. “Hawthorne?”

“Heck yeah. I love that angsty goth stuff.”

You’re so busy talking and snickering with Erwin that you sort of forget about the other four people at the table for a few solid minutes. Once Hange lets out a particularly loud laugh, though, you’re brought back to reality and blush. You hadn’t even said hello.

“Shoot, sorry, guys,” you look at them all sheepishly. “How are all of you?”

Levi waves you off, one arm slung over the back of his chair as he sips at his drink, holding his glass in the strange way he always does. It’s a wonder he doesn’t drop it. “No, no, don’t mind us. You weird fuckin' bookworms just keep at it.”

He does formally introduce you to Petra still, the petite redhead leaning over to shake your hand a little awkwardly as she chirps, “Nice to meet you!”

And then it’s back to Erwin, talking more about books for a bit before you change the subject to his day, how his classes are so far, if he’s ready to start grading countless essays. 

“I don’t know how you do it, honestly,” you tell him, taking a sip from your margarita. “That’s so many papers, and I’m sure they’re not all diamonds.”

“Definitely not. Considering most students are only taking American lit for the core credit, the vast majority of the assignments are half-assed at best. My classics kids, though--”

“They’re in it because they’re genuinely interested.”

“Precisely,” he says, the word rolling off his tongue through a smirk. You’re pretty sure you might be blushing at that, look down at your plate of flautas and breathe in deeply through your nose, but that damn cologne is driving you crazy, and his shoulder is close to brushing yours, and that eerie feeling of familiarity washes over you for the second time in a day, overwhelming when you glance back up at him and see--

~

The world tilts, and you land hard on your back, a winded, “ _Oof_ ,” being forced from your body. The sun is beaming directly into your eyes now, and you cover your face as you huff and puff. Your limbs are tired, and your muscles are aching, but you know you have to get up, have to keep fighting. This may only be training, but one day, it could be more.

You really do need to work on your hand-to-hand skills, though. It’s why your partner isn’t going easy on you. You’re both grateful to be paired with him and immensely annoyed by it. 

Sitting up, you rest your elbows on your knees, blow hair out of your face, and whine, “I feel like I’m not getting any better at this."

“You are.” The voice that rings out definitely does not belong to your sparring mate, and you’re scrambling to your feet quickly. Rod straight, you salute, face heating from embarrassment now instead of exertion.

Commander Smith waves a hand as he approaches. “Stand down, soldier.”

You relax only slightly, grimace as you apologize. “I, uh, didn’t mean for you to catch me complaining, sir.”

“Nobody ever does,” he responds, a barely-there smirk playing at his lips. It makes your stomach flip. He’s so _handsome_ \--that chiseled jaw and those high cheekbones. You could write _poems_ about his cerulean eyes, and that hair…

You shake your head at yourself. Familiar as that train of thought has become over your time with the Scouts, it’s pointless. Admire all you want, but it won’t make you a better soldier. 

“Your hand-to-hand combat has improved,” Commander Smith continues. “It may not feel like it considering how often you still end up on the ground, but I’ve been watching you and--”

“You’ve been watching me?” You cut him off, the shock of the praise clouding your sense of propriety. 

“Oh, I…” He clears his throat as he straightens the bolo tie around his neck. “Sorry, that must have sounded strange. What I mean to say is I’ve been keeping tabs on all the newer soldiers. You’ve survived two expeditions now, so I need to start making decisions on squad placement, and in order to do that, I have to assess your skills.”

You grin, running a hand through your damp hair. “Pretty round-about way of saying you’ve been scoping us all out, but yeah, that makes sense.”

If he’s offended by your little jab, he doesn’t show it, stoic as ever. “Do you have a preference?”

“For which squad I’d like to be a part of?” You blink, head lolling to one side as you frown. He wants your opinion?

“Yes. Captain Zacharias has expressed an interest in having you on his. How would you feel about that?”

Going wide-eyed, you take a step back in surprise. “C-Captain Zacharias?” He’s one of the strongest in the legion, second only to Humanity’s Strongest. You’ve seen the way the man moves, huge as he flies on the ODM gear but incredibly graceful. The strength he possesses as he slices into a Titan’s nape… Honestly, it’s a thing of beauty. “I don’t know if I’m at that level yet," you admit. "I mean, I’m honored! Don’t get me wrong! I just… He really asked about me?”

The Commander’s features soften some, and he looks down at you with a thoughtful little smile. “He did,” he nods. “For the record, it’s taken years of practice and experience for his squad to get to where they are now. Neither of us are expecting you to match them in skill just yet, but we both believe you will in time.”

You’re baffled, can only stare at the man in front of you because… _You?_ At that level? They have that much faith? Do they have you confused with someone else? The validation is intoxicating, but you’re not sure you can measure up, not sure you can--

“(Y/n),” the Commander shifts, stooping to get a better look at your face. He’s blurry around the edges, though, and when he says your name again, it sounds a little far away and muddled. “(Y/n)?”

◈

“(Y/n)?”

You clutch the edge of the table and suck in a deep breath, ground yourself in the way your old therapist taught you years ago. _Three things I see, three things I smell, three things I feel…_

“(Y/n), are you alright?” 

Erwin is right there, leaning over in his chair to get a better look at you. His thick brows are furrowed in confusion, mouth pulled downward with concern. You know it’s Erwin. You see that it’s him, can smell his cologne and hear his voice.

But, that face. _His_ face. 

“Y-yeah, sorry. Just need to…” You stand up from your chair and slip from the table, making your way to the restrooms where you stare at yourself in the mirror. You look the way you always look, dressed in your cardigan and little button-up shirt. The problem is you don’t _feel_ the way you look.

That--that--whatever it had been, a daydream maybe, had felt so real, like it just plucked you out of your place among friends and deposited you in that nightmare world. What could that mean? What if you’re actually--

“I’m here,” you mutter to yourself, bending over the sink, the counter cool beneath your palms. “I’m here, I’m here. I’m awake, and I’m here.” You whisper this a few more times, recall the events of your day just to further convince yourself. 

_Zeke made coffee this morning. Listened to Electric Light Orchestra on the way to work. Kids had music for out-class. Ymir didn’t have money for lunch again. Reiner yanked his tooth out. Read a chapter of Charlotte’s Web until dismissal._

Blowing a sharp stream of air through your teeth, you straighten back up, lock eyes with your reflection and stare until the door opens with the arrival of someone else. You busy yourself washing your hands as the stranger walks into a stall, try to focus on the way the water feels running over your hands. 

_I’m awake. I’m awake. I’m awake._

Everything is normal back at the table, aside from your hyper-awareness of everything and everyone around you, of course. Hange is talking about an upcoming science experiment that has Moblit shaking his head and Levi snorting. Petra is beside the kindergarten teacher, glancing at him every few seconds, too often to be casual, not that Levi seems to notice.

You can’t look at Erwin, though. If you look at him, you’ll see the Commander, which doesn’t even fucking make sense, but they’re just about identical in your brain, just swap out the light dress shirt for a green cloak and, oh god, your stomach is rolling as you remember how that green looked when soaked with blood, blood from Erwi--, _no_ , the Commander’s arm, the deathly pallor his face took on in the dream. 

You sigh at the weight that settles at the top of your back, a hand between your shoulder blades that brings you back down to Earth. Tension seeps from your body, muscles unwinding under that touch, warm and grounding and comforting, and you flash the man next to you a relieved smile. 

“I’m fine. Just…”

“Tired?” Erwin tries, and there’s this knowing glint in his eyes. He can see you’re more than tired, but he doesn’t press, just leans back in his chair and lets his arm fall to the back of yours, not touching you directly anymore but still there. It’s enough to keep you present, slowly joining in the conversation and joking with the others. Levi and Petra bemoan the prospect of Open House and give you the low down on what it’s like at the school. Hange says she’s going to hang up her students’ science themed comic strips on the bulletin board outside of her classroom but changes her mind when Moblit reminds her about the kid who made his a little too graphic.

“You’re right. I’ll just stick to the how-to essays. Parents love reading their spawns’ crappy writing.”

“They really, really do,” Levi agrees, raising his glass. 

A buzz in your back pocket alerts you to a text message, and you grab your phone from it then open the thread.

**Z, 5:56PM**  
_I went to dinner with Dad and Carla. Want me to  
grab you anything?_

**YOU, 5:57PM**  
_No, I’m out with the gang. I can get something here.  
Thank you, though (:_

It’s another few minutes between messages, but when a new one arrives, you frown. 

**Z, 6:01PM**  
_Hey, do you hang out with Eren’s teacher? Is he part of  
“the gang”?_

**YOU, 6:01PM**  
_Yeeeeeeah. Why?_

Now that you think about it, you really haven’t spoken much about the friends you’ve been making over the course of two weeks, usually too busy talking to Zeke about your students or his new job. Still, you’re a little surprised at yourself for not having at least _mentioned_ the grumpy teacher already. 

**Z, 6:02PM**  
_Just wondering. Eren won’t shut up about him. He’s  
doing that dumb babbling thing where he just keeps  
talking even though no one can understand him  
Like, take a breath, dude._

**YOU, 6:03PM**  
_Baby, he’s five_

**Z, 6:04PM**  
_Yeah, but I think he’s dumb even for a 5 year old_

**YOU, 6:04PM**  
_Oh my god stop texting me and talk with your family_

**Z, 6:05PM**  
_(μ_μ)_

You get a to-go box for your leftovers after another hour of chatting, make sure to tip well on your bill for sitting so long, then say your goodbyes. 

"Comrades," you start, looking to the three teachers with a playful smile, "I wish you all luck in tomorrow's endeavor."

Petra giggles, but Levi and Hange just blink at you, both pausing in the middle of a sip/bite and making you feel very self-conscious all of a sudden. "It was a joke. That was me… joking," you try. 

"Right," Levi intones, following with a sarcastic laugh. 

Making a face, you shrug them off then grab your purse from the back of your seat. Your stomach flips when Erwin pushes away from the table and stands, offering to walk you to your car once again. 

It's silly. You shouldn't have such a reaction to him, but your body and brain are filthy traitors, and you preen at his attentiveness. It's a little strange that he feels the need to be around you considering you don't actually know each other well at all, but… You wonder if maybe he gets that same sense of familiarity from you. 

No, that would be crazy. Besides, the only reason you feel a connection with him is because he reminds you of the man from your dreams. There's literally no way he's experiencing the same thing as you. 

"So, are you alright?" He questions for the second time that evening. "I feel like I sort of lost you there for a moment back there." 

"Lost me talking about books and classes?" You attempt to play it off, but your cheeks are still flushing. 

Erwin hums in contemplation as you both reach your car, and like you did that first day, you set your bag on top of it and turn to face him. The sun is setting now, pink and orange painting the sky, and you're met with the image of Erwin against the stunning backdrop, beautiful himself as his hair blows in the wind. It hurts to look at him. God, it hurts. You just wish you knew _why_. _Exactly_ why. 

"Honestly, it's just the stress of school. I haven't been sleeping all that well either," you tell him truthfully as you lean against the vehicle behind you. 

"No?" 

Erwin, you note, stands like a soldier, feet shoulder width apart, back straight, hands clasped behind his back. You wonder if he served before he started teaching. A classics major enlisting, though? That strikes you as odd. Everything about Erwin strikes you as odd. 

"No," you confirm. "A lot of weird dreams. I've had them for a long time, but it seems like they're happening more often these days."

Erwin frowns. "Nightmares?" 

You look to the ground as you nod, elaborating vaguely, "Just weird stuff. I don't know where it comes from." 

When you glance back up, something about Erwin looks pained. His shoulders are tenser than before, and he's shut his eyes, head turned to the side as if to avoid looking at you while his bottom jaw slides forward. 

You don't know what possesses you to do it, but you reach forward and grab his hand, his skin warm as you wrap your fingers around two of his, and there is a shock, both mental and physical.

A tremor travels up your arm and down your back as the unequivocal thought of _'I've done this before'_ runs through your brain multiple times. You don't know where it comes from or what it really means, but you know. You know, and without realizing you're speaking out loud, the words, _"Where are you from,"_ tumble from your mouth in a whisper. 

Erwin is quiet for a few solid seconds, looks like he's searching your face for something, and then he answers plainly, "Right here in Sina. Born and raised."

You don't bother telling him that isn't what you meant. There would be no way to explain yourself, so you just let out a humorless laugh and drop his hand. 

"Right. City boy."

That at least gets him smiling again, that heartbreaking grin that makes your heart race and body tingle. 

Maybe you'll figure it out one day, but maybe… maybe it's better left unknown. If you told anyone about this sense of nonsensical deja vu, they would no doubt think you're insane. Erwin would be no exception. 

Because it _is_ insane--completely mad. 

"Yeah, well, you might be seeing this city boy again tomorrow. I'm helping Levi get ready for the Open House you all keep complaining about."

_Didn't mean for you to catch me complaining, sir._

"Oh, well," you clear your throat. "Feel free to stop by my classroom if you have time."

Erwin is pleased by the offer judging by the way his smile goes crooked. "I just might."

You press the button on your keys to unlock the car, the distinct beep signaling the end of the conversation because you have to leave now. You have to get away from him because he is so charming and handsome and you cannot be feeling this way about someone who isn't your fiance. Looking is one thing but this--this, oh shit, is this _flirting?_ It has to stop. 

"Have a good evening, (Y/n)," Erwin wishes as you slip down into your seat. 

"Yeah, you too." 

◈

Open House is a little hectic. You’re able to get your room ready before the parents start arriving, the kids’ work either hung up on the board outside or neatly placed at each of their tables. Typically, the students aren’t supposed to tag along, but some do anyway, babysitting problems or just too plain excited to be left at home. You give a small tour and run through the normal schedule--a day in the life of your second grader, basically--then talk about a few upcoming events.

It’s after that when you feel yourself start to flounder. Open House is not the same as Parent-Teacher conferences, but the adults sure think it is, most, if not all, of the parents milling around just waiting for a chance to steal you away from whoever you’re talking to in order to discuss their child. You aren’t entirely comfortable speaking about them with the student standing _right there_ , and it’s difficult to steer them away, but you gently remind them that the first set of conferences will be at the beginning of next month, and by then you’ll be able to tell them much more about how their child is performing. You do make a point of telling every parent about what a joy their kid has been so far, though, giving a friendly head pat to each twinkly-eyed seven-year-old. They love that.

There are only three children whose guardians do not show up--Annie’s, Ymir’s, and Reiner’s. You don’t know them well enough to be either surprised or not, but it is slightly worrisome considering those are some of your problem students. Ymir is chatty and a little disrespectful at times. Annie has a tendency of getting rough on the playground. And Reiner… Reiner is just a mess. He has big feelings. That’s the only way you can put it. 

By the time the last few are trickling out, it’s nearing 9 o’clock. You immediately begin picking things up, intent on leaving no later than 10, and your goal becomes infinitely more attainable when help arrives.

In the form of Erwin.

“Hey, sorry, I meant to stop by earlier. Turns out one of the parents in Levi’s class is a former student of mine.”

“Oh yeah?” You ask, ignoring the flutter in your stomach. 

Erwin is looking much more casual than usual in a vintage Boston t-shirt, jeans, and nice Adidas. His hair isn’t parted as it usually is, and he has a day’s worth of stubble growing on his face. It’s all devastatingly attractive. 

“Yeah,” he grins, beginning to gather the messy assignments on the table closest to the door. “Is there any particular way you’re putting these away?”

God, he’s so nice, so fucking nice, it almost makes you angry. You’re grateful, but you don’t _know_ Erwin. You wouldn’t call him a friend, just an acquaintance with a wonderful personal library. If you’re being honest, it wouldn’t bother you if it was anyone else--Levi, or Hange, or even Moblit, but it’s Erwin, and every time you talk to him or spend time with him, you’re left feeling guilty, and confused, and hot all over.

“No, just stack them, and I’ll sort ‘em out later,” you tell him. Even with all your conflicting feelings, you’re not going to say ‘no’ to him, don’t know if you could if you wanted to. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem. How’d it go tonight?”

You shrug, give him the run down as you both move around the room. You pick up the extra calendars and the PTA sign up sheet, stash them both away in the filing cabinet behind your desk, then get to work on the displays set up at each station. Every once in a while, you glance over at Erwin, heart stuttering when you find him already looking at you on a few occasions. All he offers is a sheepish smile and a shake of his head before returning to the task at hand. 

_Not good. Not good, not good, not good._

“How did Levi’s class go?” You find yourself asking, just to break the silence.

“Uh, as far as I could tell, it seemed to go smoothly. He’s still in there talking to--”

“Surprise,” Zeke’s recognizable voice rings out, cutting Erwin off mid sentence. You both turn to the doorway, find him standing there with his hands raised, and you know him well enough to know he was in the middle of doing silly jazz hands only to stop mid-way, probably at the sight of the other blond in the room. “Oh, uh, hey,” he offers lamely, eyeing Erwin skeptically. You really can’t blame him as your stomach sinks like you’ve done something wrong. 

“Hello,” Erwin says a little stiffly before taking a couple strides over and extending a hand. “Erwin Smith. I was just helping (Y/n) clean up a bit.”

“I can see that,” Zeke nods, taking the other man’s hand. There’s a strange look in his eyes and a little smirk playing at his lips. It sends a shiver down your spine, one you can’t explain. “Zeke Yeager.”

“You’re the fiance,” Erwin nods. 

“That I am.” Zeke looks from Erwin to you, and you can tell by the way he runs his tongue over his front teeth that he’s peeved. “Well, babe, looks like you’re already set with man power, so I might as well go find Dad and Carla, meet Eren’s teacher while I’m here. I’m sure I’ll get stuck with carpool duty at least a few times, so--”

“You haven’t been down there yet?” Erwin suddenly asks. If you thought he looked stiff at Zeke’s initial arrival, you don’t even know what to call him now. His blue eyes are wide, alarmed almost.

“No, I literally just got here.”

“Ah, well,” Erwin clears his throat, either unaware or unfazed by Zeke’s narrowed gaze. The testosterone in the room is nearly suffocating. “Let me walk you.”

“I don’t need an escort,” Zeke bites out as he flicks shaggy hair out of his face. “I’m a big boy, Smith. I’m sure I can find _Mr. Ackerman’s_ room all by myself.”

You look between the two, not sure what exactly is going on other than two guys getting territorial, though one of them has _no_ right. 

Erwin holds his hands up in placating surrender, chuckles through his nose. “Suit yourself.”

Sneering, Zeke glances back at you, states, “I’ll see you back at home,” then slips out of the room.

Erwin stares at the now empty doorway, looks to be contemplating something, and you’re about to ask what the _hell_ that was all about, but before you can, he’s jogging out after your fiance.


	5. every time i felt your touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for sex at the end. also, during flashbacks, i spell mike's name 'miche'. enjoy~

◇

It isn’t hard to catch up to Zeke. He’s only made it to the end of the hallway before Erwin is reaching out and fisting a hand in the back of his flannel. There’s nobody around, the night’s event having truly ended about fifteen minutes ago, so most parents are either filing out of the building or are already gone. It makes for a mostly empty school which is good, because when Zeke rounds on Erwin, the look in his eyes is nothing short of furious.

They’re icy behind thick-rimmed glasses, narrowed defensively as he spits, _“Commander.”_

Erwin breathes in deeply through his nose, tries to contain his simmering rage because this is Zeke Yeager, his ultimate demise in Paradis. He’s staring at the man who, at one point in time and space, held the power of the Beast Titan. 

And, he remembers. Of course he does. This complicates things a bit.

Erwin wants to know how, _why_ , when Zeke got his memories back, but what comes out instead is, “What do you want with her?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t remember, so--”

“Yeah, no shit,” Zeke rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest, but his shoulders are still bowed forward.

Erwin flexes his hands by his sides. His heart is racing, blood pounding in his ears. This man _killed_ him. This man wiped out almost the entire Scouting Legion. There were nine left, Levi had told him. _Nine_ after the Beast’s attack. 

“She’s one of us,” Erwin grits out. 

“Was,” Zeke corrects with a roll of his eyes. “This is a different world. Why the fuck do you care so much? Were you this attentive to all of your soldiers or just--” he stops short, the disgusted expression on his face melting into something of shock… 

Then amusement. 

“Oh, shit.” Zeke raises his arms to the back of his head, and Erwin grits his teeth at the way the other man’s mouth pulls into a taunting grin. It feels like lead settles in the pit of his stomach. Erwin knew Zeke was smart in his old life, was the younger warriors’ puppet master the entire time. Still, he didn’t expect for him to figure out this little detail so quickly. 

“She was more than just your soldier.”

Erwin sets his jaw as he looks away. He will not let this monster see the emotions that are clearly written all over his face. 

_"Wow,”_ Zeke drawls. “This is,” he chuckles, shakes his head. “This is just--I mean, I couldn’t have planned this better if I had _tried_.”

“You’re saying this isn’t out of some petty--”

“ _Nothing_ about that war was petty,” Zeke hisses, taking a step toward Erwin. “ _Nothing_. We lost people just like you did.” His now wide eyes are full of rage again, and if Erwin were anyone else, he’d be intimidated.

But, he isn’t. He’s gambled with lives. He’s led charges he shouldn’t have lived through. He stood on the wall right next to the Armored Titan and didn’t even flinch.

So no, Erwin doesn’t find himself intimidated as much as he finds himself livid. 

He has Zeke against the nearest wall before the other man can react, hand in his collar this time, making sure his head slams against the surface behind him at least once. Erwin only has about an inch on the other blond, but he still stoops to get directly in Zeke’s face, growls, “You wiped out my entire army, you _fuck_. You do not get to--”

“Erwin.”

He glances to the side to find Levi standing at the mouth of the hallway, face very grave. Behind him are two adults Erwin has never seen before, but the older male has a similar facial structure to the blond who’s now smirking at him. The Yeagers. At least Eren isn’t with them.

Erwin is panicked for all of a second, thinks he just might get arrested for assault, but then the bespectacled man behind Levi is sighing and raising a hand to his face, speaking a quiet, “Commander Smith,” in greeting.

Releasing Zeke, Erwin steps back, a little embarrassed. Not for his actions--no, he would lay Zeke out right here right now if he could--but he’s a bit ashamed at being caught. To an outside observer, it would seem immature, two grown men fighting like this, and in an elementary school no less. But, it seems as though everyone here knows better. If the good doctor is aware of who Erwin is, he also knows _why_ Erwin is so upset, or has an idea at least. 

Zeke moves around Erwin, not-so-subtly elbowing him in the side that had previously been fucking _obliterated_. He grunts, resists the urge to grab Zeke by the hair and slam his face right back into the wall, but he can’t. Not here. Not with you just down the hall.

 _“As I live and breathe,”_ Zeke starts slyly, making his way toward Levi now. He’s amused all over again at the sight of his old adversary, closes distance until he’s right in front of the smaller man with a hand extended. “If it isn’t Captain Levi.” Levi bristles, and even from where he’s standing, Erwin can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, more than likely bile he’s trying to choke down. “What, not happy to see me?”

“Fuck off,” Levi sneers, slapping Zeke’s hand away.

“Are you allowed to talk like that as a kindergarten teacher?”

“I don’t talk to my students this way, shitdick.”

Zeke snorts, obviously entertained. “It’s comforting, actually. I don’t know what I would do if we met and you were all rainbows and butterflies. You know, I actually have very fond memories of our little camping trip. Remember that? Ended with us both getting blo--”

“Stop.” Levi’s shoulders are tense, and he’s standing with a foot behind him, both knees bent like he’s ready to pounce. “I don’t know what you’re trying to fucking do, pick a fight or get me fired or _what_ , but you need to cut the shit.”

“Oh, do I?” 

Christ, was he such a smartass in Paradis too? It’s maddening, juvenile, like a big brother trying to get a rise out of his younger sibling. Erwin briefly wonders how you put up with it, then comes to the conclusion that Zeke probably hasn’t actually shown you this side of him, this antagonistic, bastard personality. Erwin hopes he hasn’t at least. You don’t need to be subjected to this.

Levi pivots to look at the other two Yeagers who have been unhelpfully silent this entire time. Why they’re letting this go on is beyond Erwin, but then, they’re all adults, should be capable of sorting problems out themselves. This goes deeper than some little grudge, though. This is war they’re talking about.

Taking in steadying breaths, Levi’s voice is very low and very serious when he tells the doctor and his wife, “I will take care of Eren this year. I will keep an eye on him, and let you know if I see any sign of his memories, but I will _not_ \--” his hand shoots out, finger pointing at Zeke-- “put up with his bullshit. I don’t want him anywhere near my classroom. I don’t want him at conferences. He can pick the brat up and drop him off, but I don’t want to see his fucking face, understand?”

Erwin expects them to be offended or taken aback, but they’re neither. Instead, the middle-aged couple seems resigned. The woman nods, the doctor next to her uttering, “Yes, we understand.” Then, he looks at his son. “Come on, Zeke. Leave them alone.”

“Wha--Smith came after _me_. Why are you acting like _I’m_ the bad guy?”

Still, he begins walking with them as they make their way to the nearest exit. Erwin’s heart is finally beginning to slow down when Zeke turns back just before the doors and calls out, “By the way, keep your filthy hands off my fiance!”

Erwin’s legs are moving before his brain can catch up, but a hand clamps down on his arm. “Leave it. He’s not fuckin’ worth it.”

Levi’s restraint is somehow both extremely surprising and not at all. He’s always been a stoic man, both in this life and the last, but Zeke took everything away from him--his leader, his comrades, his blood. His hate knows no bounds, so the fact that Levi is the one being rational about this is, well, a little alarming. 

“Murder is frowned upon here, you know,” he grumbles as the family finally disappears through the double doors. “I mean, I’ll go down with you if you really wanna fuck him up, but… This ain’t the underground. Can’t just get away with shit like that.”

“He figured it out,” is all Erwin says, barely even registering what Levi’s offering.

“Figured out what?” 

“(Y/n) and I.”

Levi snorts, posture finally slackening some. “I mean, you’re not exactly being subtle. Even Pet can tell there’s something going on between you two, and she still doesn’t remember shit.”

Erwin brings his hands to his face, drags them down so that his skin pulls and his jaw stretches. “Are you joking?”

“When have I ever been one to joke?” 

Swearing under his breath, Erwin drops his hands again. “That means she’s probably picked up on it, too.” Levi hums, begins making his way down the hall, back in the direction of your classroom. “She probably thinks I’m some huge creep.”

“Yeah, probably. _Oh, let me walk you to your car and offer you fuckin’ books all the time. By the way, you want me to dick you dow--”_

“Levi!” But, Erwin is laughing at his friend’s vulgar impersonation, finally able to smile again. It won’t last, he knows, not with how confusing things are, not with how his heart has been aching lately, but if there’s anyone who can pull Erwin out of his sullen moods, it’s Levi, even if it’s only temporary. “You are so inappropriate.”

“ _I’m_ fuckin’ inappropriate? Tch,” Levi shoulders into Erwin. “I’m not the one stalking a stranger.”

“She’s not a stranger, and you know it.”

You’re not. You’re nowhere near a stranger. Erwin knows you. He knows you so well, can predict the exact way your face will light up when you get passionate about something (books or teaching in this life, new gear and leaving the walls in the last), the way your nose wrinkles when you don’t like something (a margarita made with bad tequila; a dead, steaming Titan), and the way your eyes brim with tears when you’re overwhelmed or touched by something (telling you he loved you; not being able to figure out what is happening to you, why you feel the way you do). Erwin can’t be sure about that last one, but… He’s seen the look on your face, like you’re trying to solve a puzzle that’s still missing too many pieces.

You remember Erwin. He can tell that you feel it, even asked him in that far off voice, _“where are you from?”_ And, you’ll figure it out in time. The memories are right there, breaking the surface every once in a while through the nightmares you mentioned (you didn’t have to describe them because Erwin used to have them too), and what he guesses are flashbacks.

It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but… He’ll be here when it all comes back to you, waiting with open arms. He’ll always wait for you, just like you waited for him.

~

Your anchor sinks into a branch, but it’s too small to support your weight, and you end up swinging wildly, slamming into the thick tree trunk and dangling for a moment. You’re dazed from the impact, body already aching, and you have half a mind to just pull back your other anchor and drop to the forest floor.

Then… You hear it.

Footsteps. The kind that makes the earth tremble, leaves and branches vibrating on the ground beneath you. You gulp, able to pick up the screams of distant soldiers, your comrades. Dying. Brutally. 

Aiming up at another, thicker branch, you pull the trigger on your handgrip, brace yourself for the familiar lurch of the gear, but…

It never comes.

“Fuck.”

You pull it again, but only a thin stream of compressed air is released, not nearly enough for any sort of power. The useless click echoes in your ears, somehow even louder than the approaching rumble of Titans.

Your gear is malfunctioning. You’re in the middle of the forest of giant trees, and you’re fucking gear is malfunctioning, _are you fucking kidding me?_

Everyone else is well ahead of you at this point--not supposed to look back, always looking forward, always with the goal in mind: staying alive. They don’t have time to worry about you, haven’t had the chance to get to know you yet. This is the first time you’ve left the walls since being placed on Zacharias Squad, and you were so looking forward to showing that you could keep up and hold your own. That doesn’t seem possible now. Eventually, your team will get back to their horses and realize they’re down a member. They’ll say a silent prayer for you, leave your body behind, and you’ll be left to dissolve in the belly of a Titan.

They’re getting closer, the tree you’re hanging from beginning to shake with the trembling earth, and you let out a sigh of defeat. You could try running, but they’d catch up. You could try hiding, but they’d just end up finding you. You’re helpless here, in their territory with no escape.

You’re about to release your anchor and drop down when the familiar noise of ODM gear reaches your ears, the tell-tale sound of whizzing wires and compressed air, and then there’s a blur of green hurtling toward you, a deep-voiced command of, _“Release your anchor!”_ And you do just in time for the figure to grab you mid-air, a strong arm wrapping around your waist. All the breath in your lungs is pushed from your body, and you’re suddenly being carried through the trees, heart pounding, so grateful you could cry. 

You crane your neck to see who exactly is holding you in such a bruising grip, are slightly mortified at seeing the stony face of your squad leader. 

_Well, shit._ If it had been anyone else, you could probably bribe them into covering for you, make it seem like you’re not completely inept, but Miche Zacharias himself? Not a chance. He’s definitely going to kick you off his squad, maybe even tell the Commander he made a mistake, that you’re a worthless sol--

“Happens to the best of us,” Zacharias yells over the sound of his motor. 

You blink up at him, not that he can see you, and let out a sigh of relief. “Even you? Humanity’s Strongest?”

“Second strongest,” he corrects with a small smile. “And yes, even me.”

The horses come into view, all galloping to the forest’s edge led by Nanaba. Captain Zacharias is impossibly graceful as he flies over them, dropping you right on top of your own before catching up to his. How a man as large as him can be so exact is beyond you, but he manages, making the execution look like the easiest thing in the world. He pulls to the front of the squad, leading everyone out of the forest and away from immediate danger, but you have no doubt the Titans will follow you.

The rest of the formation is a few kilometers ahead of you, riding at top speed toward Wall Maria in the distance. It feels like you can finally breathe. You’re safe for now, no longer dangling from a tree awaiting your doom. 

You all make it back to Trost without any more casualties, horse hooves echoing as you pass through the gate. You and many other soldiers dismount immediately, ready to feel solid ground beneath your feet. Civilians line the streets, all of them shouting a range of things to you, from insults to praise. It still intimidates you, but the veterans seem unfazed, eyes forward as they ignore the city-folk. 

Petting your horse as you walk deeper into the town, you catch a glimpse of golden hair up ahead, the Commander, still mounted on his white steed. As if he can feel your gaze on him, he turns his face just enough to see you out of the corner of his eye, and you smile when he gives a slight nod of acknowledgement. Captain Zacharias pats your shoulder approvingly before passing you in order to get to the front of the soldiers, joining his superior at the head. 

You made it back. You’re alive.

◈

Opening bleary eyes, you look around your dark bedroom, take note of everything familiar in an attempt to solidify your place in reality. Reality. Not the dream world. Not with the Titans or the ODM gear or the forest of giant trees. You’re here, lying in your bed, covered by the quilt your grandmother made you forever ago. 

Reaching to the nightstand beside you, you find your phone and lift it to check the time: 3:12. You still have a couple hours to sleep, but you doubt you’ll be able to drift back off, not after that imagined near death experience. God, you’re getting so tired of this. 

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes, then move to swing your legs over the side of the bed. A hand reaches out, settling on your lower back and loosely gripping the material of your shirt.

“Don’t go,” Zeke mumbles sleepily, face still halfway smushed against his pillow. He cracks one eye open, so light you can see it in the near pitch black room. “Just lay back down. Stay with me.”

It’s not often he makes this request--not often he even wakes up when you have one of your nightmares--but you guess he wasn’t sleeping well either. He’s been in a strange mood since you got back from Open House, and you can’t really blame him. After all, he had walked into your classroom to find another man helping you, one you’ve never mentioned to him, one who is undeniably handsome. You can understand why Zeke would be a little peeved. 

He questioned you only briefly, the basic _who is he? Do I need to worry?_ It was kind of sweet, actually. Zeke doesn’t get insecure very often, but you could see it in his stare as he asked you about Erwin, the uncertainty. 

Sighing, you lay back down, scooting closer to your fiance and breathing him in when he wraps an arm around you. He still smells like the soap he uses in the shower, a piney scent that you’ve always found comforting. Inching his face closer to yours, he places a lazy kiss on your lips, still groggy but obviously wanting you as close as possible. 

You hum against him, able to sense Zeke waking up slowly but surely, and you grin into his mouth when his hand travels to your back and pushes your body so that it’s flush against him. He’s definitely getting hard in his boxers, tangling your legs together and gently rutting against you.

“Morning sex?” He mumbles the suggestion, and you let out a small chuckle.

“Witching hour sex.”

Zeke shifts, hikes your leg over his hip and grinds against your covered core. Though your sex life with Zeke is fairly regular (not to mention mindblowing), it’s a little rare for you both to wake up in the wee hours in the morning just to fuck, but you’re not complaining by any means. It will be a good distraction from your troubling dreams anyway.

Reaching between the two of you, Zeke pushes your panties aside, rubs teasingly at your folds so that you moan quietly, then slips a finger between them to dip into your entrance. You’re not all that wet yet, but Zeke knows your body well at this point, knows just what to do to get you there, and it isn’t long before you’re pulling your underwear down and resituating yourself. Zeke pulls your leg up a little higher than before, easily sliding inside, and he groans into your neck.

It’s extremely intimate, nothing rushed as Zeke holds you impossibly close, moving deep inside of you. He pulls little sounds from you with every thrust, catches your lips in a slow kiss, eventually leaning back just enough to rest his forehead against you.

“I love you,” he utters, and it makes your heart clench for some reason, maybe because you can really feel the affection radiating from him, like he’s trying to pour it all straight into your heart.

“Mm, I love you too, baby,” you tell him, breaking into a whine when he reaches down to toy with your clit. Sex with Zeke is always great, whether it’s sleepy and sensual like this or fast and rough. You’re not sure you’ve ever had bad sex with him, actually. When the two of you began dating, it was almost as if he already knew you. 

He sucks a dark mark onto your shoulder, nips lightly then laves over the bruise with his tongue. Your fingers are digging into the muscles of his back, warmth spreading through your limbs and settling in your belly. 

“ _Ohh_ , Zeke, I’m close.”

“Come on, then, baby,” he pants, keeping his languid pace but fucking so deeply into you, it makes your vision white out with every thrust. “Come for me. I wanna feel you on my cock.”

You shiver at his words, tensing and clenching around Zeke until you finally snap, your hips rolling as you climax. Zeke groans and fucks you through it, muttering almost incoherently about how good you feel, how he loves what you look like when you come, and then he’s kissing you again and releasing inside of you. 

Breathless and trembling from aftershocks, you stare at each other with cloudy eyes. Zeke pushes hair from your face, shows a soft smile then laughs quietly. “Should have grabbed a towel.”

You wave a weak hand. “Whatever. We can wash the sheets.”

He pulls out, hissing from oversensitivity, then rolls onto his back and sighs happily. “I’m about to pass the fuck out all over again.”

“I know you are,” you snort. “But, clean off first, sicko.”

Zeke prods you in the ribs until you squeal and scramble off the bed, shuffling into the bathroom to perform your usual after-sex ritual but not before wetting a washrag and tossing it to your fiance. 

You look at yourself in the mirror, at your rumpled shirt and messy hair. Zeke loves you even like this. He’s loved you since he met you. That’s what he tells you, at least, and you believe him because when he looks at you with those pale eyes, you can see fondness in them, can see the adoration in the way he quirks his lips at the sight of you, the way he walks up behind you and runs his hands up and down your sides. He is a _good man_ , and the fact that you’re even looking at someone else is an insult to him. 

Zeke has done his best to give you everything you want and more, and he deserves nothing less from you.


	6. it would seep into my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for canon-typical gore. Sorry this took me so long. One of the scenes was kinda hard to write. I'm sure you'll be able to guess which one.

◈

Staying away from Erwin is only easy in theory. It isn’t hard to tell yourself to stop talking to him on Facebook, that it’s for the best, and really, what business do you have talking to him in the first place? Erwin is Levi’s friend, not yours. Even if it means giving up access to the professor’s library, it will be okay (though, you _do_ wish you’d gotten a little further in your classics reading before coming to such an adamant decision). Still, you have the list he sent you; you can always just head to a secondhand bookshop and pick up some texts there.

It’ll be fine. You aren’t attached to the man. You’re just a little too intrigued.

Of course, it isn’t so easy when you’re actually faced with Erwin, sitting next to him at a restaurant different from the usual Friday happy-hour spot. You’re sipping on a hurricane this time, George Strait playing through the building just loud enough to hear over cheerful chatter. 

Another week down, one spent assessing reading skills more closely, reviewing subtraction, and starting the ecosystems science unit. The table-top terrariums will arrive next Wednesday, something you’re both excited for and dreading. They’ll no doubt be a huge distraction, but you really do love watching the kids get interested in nature and the environment. Have to start them young. You’re just going to have to keep a very close eye on a couple of your students, make sure Ymir doesn’t make anyone eat dirt or Reiner try to take a centipede home in his pocket. 

“So, Hange’s birthday is tomorrow,” Erwin states, segueing from the current topic, and gaining your full attention all over again.

“Is it?” You ask, eyes darting to the teacher in question at the end of the table, laughing and leaning against Moblit. “She hasn’t said anything about it.”

“Loud as Hange may be, she’s fairly humble, not one to celebrate herself exactly which is _why_ ,” Erwin smirks, and the butterflies in your stomach flap wildly at the sound of his lowered voice. He leans forward slightly, ducking his head and nodding for you to do the same. When you do, you breathe in his cologne, feel your mouth start to water slightly, all thoughts of avoiding him so far out the window at this point. 

“We’re throwing her a surprise party.” He glances to his friend to make sure she isn’t paying attention, then continues, “It won’t be anything big, just some friends and family, but you should show your face if you can. Hange would appreciate it.”

Would she really? You don’t talk to Hange as much as you do with Levi, but it isn’t exactly uncommon for the fifth grade teacher to find her way in the second grade hallway, poking her head into your classroom and disrupting whatever lesson you’re in the middle of. It’d be annoying if it was anyone other than Hange, but she’s usually pretty good about keeping her guest appearances short and sweet, always leaving with a friendly, _“Okay, good work guys, pay attention to Ms. (L/n) now!”_

Either your confusion is written all over your face or Erwin is just eerily good at reading you because he explains, “She sees you as a friend. We all do, actually.”

Blue eyes are unwavering as you stare into them, the color of the sky outside and just as timeless. You blink, and for a fraction of a second, everything changes. The walls around you are made of stone, the table under your elbow of wood, and instead of your teaching attire, you feel tight belts around your legs and chest, a soft sweater, and the short uniform jacket. Erwin’s pale dress shirt is a different shade, the turquoise stone of his bolo tie resting just above his sternum. His gaze is hard and guarded, but his lips twitch upward as yours part in a gasp, and then…

You blink again. The restaurant and everyone in it is as it was, and you sit back in your chair, taking a couple steadying breaths and looking anywhere but at Erwin.

“(Y/n)...”

“I’m fine,” you tell him quickly. “And, I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”

◈

After a couple drinks and light conversation, you get back to the apartment and are met with not one but two males who are pleased to see you (one much younger than the other). Somewhere between this morning and now, you completely forgot about the little league season starting, and walking in to both of them on the couch, chowing down on subs with messy hair and clothes stained with red dirt, well, it’s one of the softest scenes you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Dang, first practice, and you’re teaching them to slide?” You joke, setting your purse down and shrugging out of your light jacket. 

Eren swallows a bite he isn’t actually finished chewing, starts excitedly, “I did it wrong at first, so Ze--” he starts coughing uncontrollably, and Zeke casts you an unimpressed look as he begins to slap the little boy on the back.

“When he’s done choking, I’ll show you his arm. He scratched it up pretty--Jesus Christ, kid, are you actually dying?” 

Something comes flying out of Eren’s mouth and splatters on the coffee table, and the five-year-old takes a deep breath then picks up right where he left off. “Zeke showed me how to slide the right way!”

“Wow, very cool,” you drawl, eyebrows high on your forehead as you walk backward to the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels. 

Leaning back against the couch cushions, Zeke blinks at you as you pass. He looks tired, and it makes you smirk. Having to teach and look after fifteen little kids is something of a nightmare for your fiance, one of the reasons he respects your teaching job as much as he does, but at least _he_ has help, in the form of a friend, no less. 

“Colt was kinda pissed, said they don’t have any real business doing it and’ll just end up getting hurt, but if they learn early on, they can stop getting all fucked up trying to look cool.”

“Zeke,” you admonish, covering Eren’s mess and picking it up with the towel. The last thing the two of you need is Grisha and Carla Yeager getting mad at their youngest learning some new _colorful_ vocabulary. “Boys will be boys, I guess.”

“Oh! But we have a girl on the team!” The little brunet is basically shouting. “Gabi! She-she’s really good!”

“Oh yeah?” You dispose of the piece of sandwich, wash your hands, then return to the den where you plop down in the rocking chair. 

“Yeah,” Zeke confirms. “I ‘hink she’s re’ated cho a kid in your crash, actua’y, ‘asht name’s Braun. ’s one’a yours, righ’?” He questions as he chews.

You frown but nod. “Reiner, yeah.” You’re a little surprised he would remember that, but out of all the little ones in your class, you probably talk about the rambunctious blond boy the most. “So, she’s good?” 

“Yeah, she’s friends with Colt’s little brother, Falco. They probably play catch together or whatever kids do these days.” Zeke looks down to the menace beside him, kicking short legs as he happily listens to the conversation. “What _do_ kids do these days?”

Eren looks at him with huge green eyes, opens his mouth to speak but you tell him calmly, “Chew and swallow your food first, bud.”

He does so, looking oddly determined as he munches, then enthusiastically answers, “I don’t know what other kids like, but I like playing with my friends. We play trucks and cops and Titans and--”

“What’d you just say?” Zeke cuts him off. “You play what?”

Eren cocks his head to the side. “Um, cops?”

“No, after that.”

“Titans,” you pipe up, your own brain struggling to make sense of it. It’s probably nothing, just little boys playing strange games. It’s a simple coincidence that the monsters of your nightmares go by the same name. 

“Oh, yeah! Armin sets up a buncha blocks outside, and I--and I put on my moon-shoes so I can be real tall--” Zeke snorts into his sandwich-- “and then I try to knock down his city, and then Mikasa starts chasing me, and then--and then she has to get my neck--right here--and if she does I’m _dead!_ ”

Brows pinched together, you stare at the excited boy in carefully masked alarm. He’s got a thumb hooked backward, pointing to his nape, and honestly, it sounds a little too familiar to you.

 _Just kids being kids,_ you reason. _Imaginations running wild._

Zeke seems unfazed, just chuckles and shakes his head before tussling Eren’s hair. “Honestly, where do you guys come up with this stuff?”

He catches your gaze, winks at you, and you do your best to smile back at him despite the growing pit in your stomach.

◈

“I won’t stay for long, I promise,” you announce as you grab your small purse, wincing at the heavy sigh Zeke lets out.

“I don’t care how long you stay. I care that, that weird blond dude is gonna be there.”

Turning to face him, you cast your fiance what you hope to be an amused look rather than a guilty one. “You know, that’s what people call you, too. _That weird blond dude_.”

Zeke rolls his eyes, but you see the beginnings of a smile play at his mouth. “Whatever. I’m not creeping on another man’s woman.”

“Okay, two things--” you hold up your hand, pointer and pinky fingers extended. “Erwin isn’t _creeping_ on me. He’s just nice.” Zeke scoffs. “And, I’m not your woman. That makes you sound like a fucking neanderthal. I’m your _fiance_.”

Eyes narrowed, Zeke pouts, but you can see he’s entertained. “Okay, Miss Teacher,” he mutters, reaching out and grabbing your hand as he steps into your space. You chuckle, tilting your head upward to meet him in a kiss. He hums into you, presses against your body, and you do your best to memorize everything about this feeling, the content thrum of your body, the sensation of his beard on your face, his fresh scent, warm lips and warmer tongue. You mark it as a point of grounding, intent on calling upon it later in the evening when you’re at the party, surrounded by your new friends, getting lost in them. In _him_. 

“Mm, okay,” you murmur, pecking Zeke one more time before pulling away. “I’ll be back soon.”

You slip away from him and out of the apartment, galloping down the complex’s stairs to your car. The address Levi had texted you is about fifteen minutes away, so says Google Maps, the home of a couple of his friends you haven’t met yet. It’s about 6:30, and Hange is scheduled to arrive at 7 ( _“You never really know with that one, though,” Levi had said_ ), so you have a little bit of time for Saturday evening traffic as you navigate your way through the city, singing along to your chosen playlist the whole way.

The neighborhood you end up in is nice but not upscale, just modest little homes with manicured lawns and flower beds. When your phone alerts you to your arrival, you find yourself parked outside of a one-story house, painted dark green with tan trimming. There are several vehicles you recognize in the driveway and street, but the two closest to the house are unfamiliar--matching pickup trucks. _Cute_ , you think as you walk up, gripping the bottle of wine intended as a gift. 

You knock on the front door, shifting from foot to foot as you wait. You don’t know exactly what to expect, but you don’t plan on staying all that long, just enough to wish Hange a happy birthday and meet whoever you don’t already know. No drawn out conversations with Erwin. _No waking nightmares, please for the love of God._

The door swings open, revealing a tall, thin woman with short blond hair and light eyes that wrinkle at the corners when she grins warmly. “You must be (Y/n),” she greets, then holds out a hand, “I’m Nanaba.”

Nanaba. Not a name heard often, and yet…

_No. Nightmares. Please._

“Nice to meet you,” you nod, taking her hand and shaking before following her inside. 

The home is lovely and lived in, clean but not sparkling. There are a couple sweaters on a coat rack, work boots by the door, a throw blanket over the back of a worn couch. The walls are a tasteful beige, dotted with framed pictures and, over the television, a splatter-paint canvas--green, blue, and white. A good number of people are already inside, some you recognize (Levi, Petra, Erwin) and some you don’t. Nanaba takes the bottle of wine from you and brings it to the kitchen, and you make your way over to the trio of friends. 

“Look who made it,” Levi pipes up first, silver eyes hooded and bored despite the small smile on his face. 

You hold your hands out, take a sarcastic bow, then flash your own grin. They all have drinks in their hands, cocktails in glass tumblers, and after chuckling, Erwin is the first to offer, “Would you like something?” lifting the cup in show.

You wave him off, try not to look at him for too long, but it’s so hard because he’s in casual clothes again, a short sleeve henley with several buttons down his broad chest, dark jeans that fit him too well, and casual leather Chelsea boots. A nice, silver watch is clasped around one wrist, and there’s a thin chain around his neck, dipping under his shirt, whatever is at the end pushing the fabric out slightly. 

“No, I’m fine. I shouldn’t stay for too long,” you tell him, ignoring the way the light fixture above is giving him an ethereal glow. He always looks so angelic, god dammit. 

“Why not?” Levi gruffs, squinting at you.

“I just have some grading to catch up on,” you lie. You don’t, but you do have a half finished copy of _House of the Seven Gables_ waiting for you along with your fiance. 

“Hm,” Erwin nods like he understands. Maybe he does. You wouldn’t put it past him. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know, and I’ll get something for you.”

Chuckling through your nose, you shake your head, moving to stand a little closer to him without even realizing it. He’s just magnetic, pulling you in until he’s right there, looking down at you with gleeful cerulean eyes and an almost boyish smile. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, hot all over and a little unstable.

 _Zeke_ , you think. _His kiss and his hands and his presence._ They weigh you down in a good way, keep you here on Earth, here in reality. You need that. You need him.

Erwin’s baritone voice rolls over you like a wave, “Of course,” and you’re back at square one, lost in a stare as your reason fizzles out once again. 

You’re able to fake your way through a conversation with all of them, mostly about school--students, curriculum, woes about administration, the usual--then move on to introductions. 

Levi and Erwin guide you around the living room, and you meet half a dozen people, shake their hands and make small talk with each of them. Three of them surround Nanaba in the kitchen--Thomas, Henning, and Lynne, all of them obviously close as they joke and jab at one another. They inspire a friendly warmth within you, extremely easy to talk and open up with, and you’re finally feeling comfortable when someone new steps through the archway.

Impossibly tall. Shaggy hair. Tan skin. Light green eyes. 

Reality warps. The ground rocks beneath your feet.

_“Miche.”_

~

You arrive too late, too fucking late. Even if you _are_ able to slice through three napes, it’s _too god damn late_. The giant abnormal is already far away, ambling forward and shaking the ground with every step. The now steaming Titans slump and begin to decompose, smoke rising from the bodies and making it hard to see, but you don’t have to see. You can hear.

Grunting. Gurgles. Choking. 

You find him in the soiled grass in pieces. Literally. Missing both legs and an arm, bleeding from _everywhere_. Squad Leader Zacharias.

“No, no, no, no,” you whimper, kneeling beside him. Dark blond hair is plastered to his face, matted with blood, sweat, and tears. Crimson is pouring from his mouth and nose, and he coughs even more out, red splattering your hands when you reach for him. You don’t know what you’re reaching for, though. What can you even do? 

Pale eyes lock onto you, and for the first time since meeting the man, after fighting by his side for years, you see fear in them. Your heart breaks inside of you. This pillar of strength, Humanity’s Second Strongest, afraid of death. Of course he is. He’s only human. 

But, _fuck_ , you wish you could take it from him, even with how gruesome he looks, you would take his place. Paradis needs a soldier like him. Miche is so much stronger than you, has more experience, and such incredible instincts. Losing him is a huge hit to not only the Scouts, but the world. It’ll be down one more genuinely kind person, a gentle giant, one of your best friends.

He raises his remaining hand, shaking horribly, and you waste no time in taking it, clasping it in both of yours, uncaring of the blood. His mouth opens and closes, and you know he has something to say, but he’s probably too weak to, has lost too much blood. The fact that he’s alive now is unbelievable, but he’s fading quickly.

“I’m here. I’m right here, Miche,” you tell him, sniffing as acid-hot tears fall from your eyes. “I’ve got you, okay?”

He gives one stiff nod, then convulses as he chokes for a moment. Toward the end, he manages out a word, a name: “Nana--” and you know.

“She knows. I promise she knows, but I’ll still tell her.” 

It's hard to see his smile through the blood, but it's there, one of relief, and he seems to relax save for the grip of his wet fingers around your palm. 

You sit like that for a while, you're not sure how long, probably just a couple minutes that feel like hours. You wonder more than once if you should offer to make this go faster, if he would prefer you knock him out with the handgrip of your sword, but you can't bring yourself to ask. Instead, you just wait with him, on your knees, shaking, and wishing you could hold him closer. 

Then the grip goes slack. The gurgling stops. Miche's eyes stare at the sky, no life left in them. 

And, you cry. Still grasping onto him, wishing you could bring him back, cursing this awful fucking world for taking someone so compassionate and steadfast and handing him such a terrible fate. He didn't deserve to die like this, ripped apart and feasted on. Nobody deserves it, but Miche especially should have passed like a king. 

God, how are you going to tell Erwin? How are you going to tell Nanaba? 

You weep, struggling to breathe as you process the loss. 

Squad Leader Miche Zacharias. Among the fallen. Having died in the fight for humanity. 

Eventually, you're able to take the patch from what remains of his jacket, the Wings of Freedom. You hope he's free now, free from this fight, this war. He has to be in a better place. 

That night, you spend the ride to Utgard castle with dried tears on your face, clutching Miche's wings with the reins of your horse.

◇

Erwin watches as you lock gazes with Mike, watches your eyes widen and the color drain from your face. He's a few steps away from you, hands shooting out when your knees buckle, but somehow his friend gets to you first, actually hopping the island (just as graceful in this life as the last) and scooping you in his arms before you hit the ground.

He swears, starts saying your name, but you don't respond. Frantic, Erwin leans over, assuming you've fainted only to find your eyes wide open and glazed with tears. His heart thunders in his ribcage, filled with both dread and excitement. Does this mean… do you remember? Was seeing your old superior what brought it all back? 

Your small hand clutches at Mike's shirt, and Erwin is reminded of how close you were with him. You respected Erwin, yes, harbored romantic feelings for him for years, but you _adored_ Mike, followed him like a puppy once he requested you to join his squad. If he were the type to be insecure, Erwin would surely be jealous, but it wasn't and still isn't in his nature. Besides, his friend’s heart has always belonged to another. The sibling-like bond between the two of you was strong, but that's how it remained. 

Nanaba, hand to her mouth, sniffles once then clears her throat. "Let's get her to the bedroom and have her lay down."

Mike nods and carries you from the kitchen, Erwin, Nana, and Thomas following and gaining an alarmed Levi on their way to the back. 

"What the fuck happened?" He asks. 

"She saw Mike and, I don't know, blacked out. Probably got hit with a flashback. And, not a good one." 

Levi grunts, voice gruff with worry when he suggests, "Him dying, I bet."

Erwin swallows. He wasn't there at the time, and you never went into detail, but it must have been horrific because you were never quite the same after that day.

"She said my name," Mike announces as he enters the bedroom he shares with Nanaba. Erwin heard you murmur something back there, but he couldn't quite make it out. Mike seems positive, though, lowers you on the mattress before turning to the rest of the group. "My real name. She knew it." 

More hope blooms in Erwin's chest. This must have been it, the final push, the flick of the switch. 

"Do you think we should take her to the hospital?" Thomas questions. "She looks catatonic, or like, in a fugue state or something." 

He isn't wrong. You're trembling slightly, eyes wide as saucers still, but completely silent. 

Levi shakes his head, though. "Give her some time. I was the same way. She's probably just… overwhelmed." 

Erwin can't help himself. He kicks off his boots, ignores the concerned looks from his friends, then kneels on the bed and situates himself behind you so that he's leaning against the headboard with you between his legs, head pillowed on his chest. 

Thomas falls into old habits when he asks, "Commander, what if she _doesn't_ actually remember? What are you gonna do when she comes to?" 

He looks at his former soldier, tells him assuredly, "I'm going to explain to her I was worried and didn't want to leave her alone. That I care for her. She's still…" he looks down at you, brow pinching as he brushes hair from your blank face. "She’s still mine, even if she doesn’t remember. I'll be there for her no matter what, and I need her to know that." 

They all stay put for a while until an uproar is heard from the front of the house. Hange and Moblit must have arrived. Erwin nods to the door, encouraging his friends to leave and greet the guest of honor. "I'll be fine. It'll be fine."

He waits for them to disappear into the hallway, Levi pausing to shut the door behind them, and Erwin finally relaxes where he sits, rubs absent-minded circles on your arms and leans his head against the headboard. 

Then he just… talks... nearly positive you won't actually hear anything he has to say. It's probably for the best. 

"I hope… God, I hope this is it, (Y/n). I miss you so much. I don't think you could even comprehend it." 

These last few weeks have been torture. Erwin is incredibly glad to have you back in his life, but remaining appropriately distant is a struggle, one he sometimes fails at. It's difficult to stay casual, to keep himself from reaching out and taking your hand in his, stop himself from tucking hair behind your ear, from stooping low to kiss you the way he wants to so badly. He didn't do it enough in the last life, didn't allow himself to, and once he _did_ open himself up, it was almost too late. There wasn't enough time. 

"I'm sorry I waited so long in Paradis. Sorry I made you wait. I knew what you wanted and denied you despite wanting it too. If I could go back… Well, the world itself was horrible, but if it meant being with you again, if I could do things right, I would fight the war for humanity a thousand times over. Maybe," Erwin chuckles to himself, "Maybe I'd pick a different career choice, though--be a teacher like my father rather than commander of the Scouting Legion. Live a quiet life with you, have a little house inside Wall Rose. Maybe I could have stayed better friends with Nile and Marie…"

Erwin rambles like this for a while, musing about another time until he feels you begin to stir. He stops talking, watches the way your eyelashes move as you blink a few times, and then--

"Erwin?" It's a whisper, barely there. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Erwin braces himself for the crying, the questions, the confusion. "Yes, it's me."

You're silent for a moment, but he can see the way your hands clench by your sides. 

"I feel like…" A sniff, and then your voice breaks as you tell him, "I think I'm going crazy."

"You…" _still don't remember._

Stomach sinking, Erwin grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. A lump forms in his throat, one that won't go away no matter how many times he swallows. He's never been so disappointed before. What is it going to take? Does he need to cut off his fucking arm? He'll do it if it will bring you back. In a heartbeat. 

Breathing deeply, Erwin rubs your arms again. If you’re offended by his proximity, you don’t show it, just sink back against him as tears trickle out of your eyes.

“You’re okay,” he tells you quietly, then adds, embarrassingly transparent, “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

_I’ll always have you._


	7. if i could hold you for a little longer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're building up to some things, i promise. also, i don't know how shit does and doesn't work in public school, so i'm taking some creative liberties.

◈

“How would you feel,” you start cautiously, blowing on the hot mug of tea and meeting Zeke’s gaze over the rim. “About me possibly starting therapy again?”

It’s late. You’re both winding down for the night in the living room, freshly showered and both in pajamas. Well, _you’re_ in pajamas; Zeke is in boxers.

He blinks at you, tilts his head slightly to the side, then shrugs. “If that’s what you think you need, then I’m behind it. Hundred percent.” You show a very soft smile, relieved at his unquestionable support. He’s so good. “Have you been having trouble with the move, or something?”

“Or something,” you mumble, taking a sip and wincing when it still scalds your tongue. “I haven’t been sleeping well, and it’s just… Really taking a toll, I think.”

“Want some Xanax?” Zeke asks, a smirk on his face, but then he shakes his head. “Just kidding.” You roll your eyes but smile back at him. “It’s the dreams, isn’t it?”

You set your cup down, rub your tired eyes and nod. “Yeah, they’re getting bad again.”

“Even with the sleeping pills?” 

“Yeah.” 

Zeke’s lips purse in a cute little pout, then he holds his hands out. You laugh through your nose, get up from your place on the loveseat and resituate yourself in his lap. Facing him, you let your arms rest over his shoulders and lean forward, pressing your face into his neck. He smells nice, like he always does--home and comfort and everything you know about him and the world and _yourself_. You sigh into his skin, hum when he squeezes you gently. 

“I’m sorry if all this is stressing you out,” he says quietly. “I know you said you were ready for a change, but… I think I pushed you into it.”

“You didn’t.” He shivers lightly, probably from the tickle of your lips on his neck. “I really was ready to get out of that po-dunk town. Plus, I’ve liked getting to spend more time with your family.”

Zeke makes a non-committal noise, squints behind his glasses. “They’re okay, I guess.”

“You just don’t like Carla,” you snort.

Firm hand on your back, Zeke keeps you in place as he leans forward to grab something from the coffee table-- _XBOX controller_ , you think--then sits back and relaxes into the cushions. You grin when you hear the sound of the console turning on. _Knew it_. 

“You gonna keep koala-ing while I play _Stellaris?_ ” Amusement laces his voice.

“Gotta problem with it?” 

Zeke places a very sweet kiss to your forehead, murmurs, “Not a single one,” just as the familiar, atmospheric music starts playing from the TV. It’s nice and soothing, and Zeke is warm against you, so warm and sturdy, almost like Erw--

_No_. You’re not thinking about that. You _can’t_ think about that. You’re here with Zeke, just as you should be. 

So _what_ if Erwin basically talked you down from an anxiety attack? So what if he held you through your dissociation? So what if it felt _right_ being close with him like that, like you’d done it a thousand times before?

So what.

The steady rise and fall of Zeke’s chest paired with the dim lighting and ambience music has you drowsy, your arms going slack around your fiance’s neck, and you vaguely hear him tell you, “You’re gonna be sore if you fall asleep like this, baby.”

You don’t offer an argument, eyelids growing heavier with each blink. You drift in and out, tea long forgotten on the table, and some time after that pointless musing-- _oh, too bad, it was chamomile_ \--you’re carried into the bedroom and tucked in.

◈

The chatter in the cafeteria is nearly deafening. The throbbing in your head makes it seem that way anyway. You rub your temples, squeeze your eyes shut for just a second, then fake a smile when the other second grade teacher looks at you with concern. You wave her off like it’s nothing then glance back at your long table of students. They’re talking and laughing and playing with their food. _“Look what my mommy packed me,”_ and _“not as good as my Gushers,”_ and all that nonsense.

You frown when your gaze lands on the group of five at the last section--Ymir, Annie, Bertholdt, Marcel, and Reiner.

The last isn’t eating. 

There isn’t anything in front of him--no lunchbox or tray--and you mentally berate yourself because _how_ had you missed that this morning when taking the count? Had you really been that out of it?

Hissing under your breath, you make your way to the dwindling lunch-line, doing your best to push past the simmering rage you’re feeling, both at yourself and whoever else let this little boy come to school without any means of eating-- _God_ , if there’s _one_ thing that gets you from zero to a hundred, it’s this. 

You buy one of the student lunches as well as a chef’s salad, punching your employee ID number into the little keypad, then bring both over to the table. 

All five children look up at you with big eyes, and you try to act as casual as possible as you unwrap your salad and push the tray of chicken rings and mashed potatoes to the blond boy. If you don’t make it a big deal, nobody else will. 

“Did you kiddos have fun at recess?” You ask, though you already know the answer. They all have that sweaty, sunshine smell, meaning much running around was done. 

Reiner stares at you with huge light brown eyes, mouth opening to say something, but you just nod to his tray then turn to Marcel when he starts talking excitedly. “Yeah! We played kickball with Marco and Jean and Marlo, and--and--Oh! Bertl kicked it really far and made it all the way around before Annie could get it--”

He goes on for some time, but you don’t mind at all, just listen and nod, glancing around the cafeteria every once in a while in case any other kids need help opening their milk or crackers or _whatever_. Reiner slowly begins to eat, but he looks up at you suspiciously often, like he thinks there might be some kind of catch to his meal. 

It doesn’t sit right with you. Not at all.

His parents really could have just forgotten. It isn’t unheard of. Annoying and irresponsible, but not unheard of. Some households are hectic in the mornings, and it’s possible that the seven-year-old was just overlooked in the shuffle. You hope that’s all it was and that this will be the only time it happens. Hopefully, a little note home will help: _Please make sure your fucking son is fed_ , only in much nicer terms. You don’t understand how someone could just forget, but then again, you’re not a parent. 

The rest of the day passes mostly uneventfully. The kids are, as expected, in awe of the terrariums at the tables, but after threatening to take them away (a bluff), everyone settles down. The last fifteen minutes before dismissal are spent with everyone listening to you read _Charlotte’s Web_. You’re nearly finished and planning on starting _Sideways Stories From Wayside School_ next. 

When the bell rings, you stand by the door and usher the kids outside, watching as they all break off to go to their separate lines. You pat heads and give sideways hugs, relieved that the day is over yet already missing each child in a way only teachers can. They’re a good bunch, a little loud and unfocused at times, but good. You’re glad that they can be your first class here in the city. 

Pressure on your leg and hip makes you look down, little arms trying to wrap around your waist as a face is shoved into your ribs. You grunt at the impact, but any offense or reprimand dies in your chest when you hear a sniffle.

“Hey, hey, Reiner,” you coo, pulling his hands from you so that you can lower yourself easier. You shrink to his level, kneeling on the carpet, and take hold of his shoulders gently. There are a few tears rolling down his face, not exactly an uncommon occurrence. For a boy as big and boisterous as he can be, he’s also very soft-hearted--will probably be a poet when he gets older. 

He wipes his face with chubby hands, stutters out a wet, “Th-thank you f-for m-my lunch.”

“Couldn’t just have you goin’ hungry,” you say with a smile, hoping you don’t look as troubled as you feel. You wipe another stray tear from his red cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

“I… I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want any--anyone to know I f-forgot.”

The logic is flawed, but you can’t expect much more from a boy his age. “Well, if you forget again, I need to know, okay? You can always write me a little note or whisper in my ear. Understand?” 

Reiner nods, swallows thickly. “I--I can do that. I think.”

You give him a real hug which is sort of a no-no in public school, but damn if this kid doesn’t need one. You can tell by the way Reiner’s sniffling gets louder and he clutches onto the back of your cardigan. It makes your stomach roll. It isn’t normal. Your gut is telling you that something isn’t right, but you can’t just act on impulse. You need to do your research first, and possibly self-analyze. Why do you feel so connected to this child in the first place? From day one…

“Better go before you miss your bus, Rei.”

He nods against you, and you lean back, use your sleeve to wipe his nose and don’t even bat an eye. “See you tomorrow morning, okay? Don’t forget to do your reading tonight.”

The look on his face is much more determined as he grips the straps of his backpack. “Yes, ma’am!” Then, he’s rushing out of the room, shouting a _“Sorry,”_ when you remind him not to run in the hall.

Pushing yourself back up to your feet, you let out a long breath. You have your first appointment with your new therapist in half an hour, and you really thought you would be able to talk to him with a clear head. Now, though… That seems pretty unlikely.

◈

The office is nice, cluttered in a home-y sort of way with pictures on the walls and throw blankets over the couch. The doctor’s desk is littered with little figures (paperweights, stress balls, and a disturbing amount of thumb push puppets), and there’s incense burning from somewhere you have yet to find.

Sitting in a plush chair in front of you rather than behind his desk is an older man, thin and dressed in slacks, a button up, and a red sweater vest. He’s bald yet still sports an impressive mustache, and his eyes are kind, the crows feet at the corners a testament to how much of his life he’s spent smiling. 

Dr. Dot Pixis, recommended by both Hange and Petra when you mentioned being in the market for a new therapist. 

_“I’ve been going to him for years now. He’s great,”_ Petra had told you easily. You feel much better now that you know you aren’t the only person who feels the need to _talk_ to someone, though you have to wonder what Petra’s life is like if she’s been going to a therapist for _years_. No judgement, of course; therapy should be completely normalized, but still. Whatever the little ginger teacher is dealing with, she hides it very, very well. 

“This is just a general session,” Pixis states. His voice is scratchy but soothing. “Feel free to talk about anything and everything. Think of it as me gathering intel.”

You let out a quiet chuckle, mumble, “Weird way to put it, but okay.”

“I can prompt you, if that would make it easier.” You nod to assure him _yes, that would make this much, much easier._ “Very well. When’s the last time you did something like this?”

“Therapy, you mean?” He nods. “I went for a few solid years when I was younger, probably in middle and high school. I was… Troubled, I guess.”

“Care to elaborate on that?”

With a slightly dramatic sigh, you agree and take it from the top. Always an odd girl, head in the clouds type, very imaginative, and then _the dreams_. Pixis perks up at this.

“They’re just so graphic, and it’s like… It’s like they all fit, like they’re telling a story rather than just,” you wave nebulously above your head, “Just nonsense your brain comes up with to purge, you know?”

“A story. What about?”

You reach for the water bottle on the small table in front of you and take a few swigs. Telling him about the dreams themselves isn’t the hard part. It’s explaining to him how real they feel, and how they’re starting to bleed into your waking hours. 

But, that’s what you’re here for. 

“It’s like… Another world. Seems sort of set in the past, really behind on technology and stuff, and there are these--these giant monsters.” You think you might see the man’s lips twitch into a small smile. Wouldn’t be the first time someone found your woes entertaining. “Called Titans. And they fucking eat us. In almost every dream I’m, like, a soldier, I guess, in an army that fights against these things.”

“The Titans.”

“Yeah. And, it’s bloody and gory, and I wake up crying and sweating. They used to not be so bad. Or, they were, and then I got put on sleeping pills, and they sort of lessened in intensity and frequency, but now…”

“What changed?” Pixis has a writing pad balanced in his lap, but he hasn’t scribbled a single thing down since you started talking. It seems strange, but he may just be trying to focus on only you. _Gathering intel._

You shrug and sit back on the couch. “The move I guess.” _The people I’ve met here._ You don’t know if you’re ready to broach _that_ subject just yet. Shit, you haven’t even told _Erwin_ exactly why you had blacked out at Hange’s party--a discussion that probably needs to be had--but you’re still trying to process it yourself.

You _knew_ that man. You knew him as soon as he walked into the kitchen. You knew his face and his name. _Miche Zacharias_. You just don’t know how you know all of it because it doesn’t make any _fucking sense_. 

“Was that the only treatment you had?” Pixis asks, raising a hand to twiddle one side of his mustache. “For the dreams?”

“Uh, yeah. Just chalked them up to night terrors, honestly. I think… I think people just got tired of me talking about them, so--”

“Well, I want you to talk about them,” the man suddenly states, brow furrowed as he stares at you. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you started keeping a journal.”

“You want me to write them down?” 

“As best you can, yes, as well as any thoughts you have about them, any factors during the day that may contribute to you having them, what might remind you of this nightmare world during the day…”

He trails off as your eyes widen. It’s like he already knows, and _that’s_ a creepy line of thought. 

“So, that’s it? You’re not gonna ask me about my parents or anything like that?”

“I can if you’d like me to,” Pixis smiles. “What was your childhood with them like?” 

You roll your eyes but show a small grin of your own. “Normal, small town livin’. Dad worked a lot, same story, different person, I guess.”

The two of you go over more of the basics, family history, any traumatic events (“Mom and Dad divorced when I was fifteen, but I wouldn’t call it _traumatic_.”). Then Pixis begins asking more about your current life--what prompted you to move in the first place.

“Zeke, my fiance--”

“Fiance. You don’t wear a ring?”

You look down at the empty finger on your left hand and shake your head. “Never to school. I’ve heard horror stories and don’t want to risk it.” The ring Zeke proposed with _is_ quite flashy, bigger than you personally would have liked, but damn if he didn’t try his best to make you happy. If it ever got stolen, you would be beside yourself with guilt.

Pixis nods in understanding then looks down to the pad on his thigh and finally begins writing. “So your fiance, Zeke, he wanted to move?” 

“We both did.”

That’s how it goes for another thirty minutes, and at the end of the session, Pixis hands you a business card with the name of a psychiatrist he works closely with. “If you’d like, Dr. Zackley may be able to help find a medication that actually works for you. Completely up to you, though.”

You thank him, schedule another appointment one week from today, then make your way out of the office building. Therapy is slightly different as an adult, no longer the hormone-riddled child full of angst and confusion (well, there’s still a lot of confusion). It’s easy to talk openly, though, unafraid of being judged. Then again, you hadn’t actually divulged what will probably earn you _real_ worry from Dr. Pixis--the fact that you feel like you’re constantly drowning, losing yourself in the blur between your dreams and reality, that you’re seeing things in the faces of people you don’t actually know.

_A conversation for another day_ , you tell yourself, hoping that sooner rather than later something will click into place. Even better, you might find new meds that actually get rid of the nightmares altogether. There’s no reason for you to be having these--these fucking _vore_ dreams, especially when so many of them involve Erwin, and not just in frightening, heartbreaking situations either. No, no they’ve definitely evolved, and you have to find a way to _make them stop_. 

You cannot think of him in the capacity you have been. You cannot dream about his hands on your body or his lips at your ear. You cannot let yourself remember what it was like to be held in his arms, the way you woke up and knew--you _knew_ \--exactly who was there behind you. It was _instinct_ , and you haven’t been able to shake that feeling yet, but you need to because it’s driving you crazy. _He_ is driving you crazy. 

_“Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”_

How can he--He can’t just _say_ things like that, not when they’re going to rattle around in your brain for the better part of a week. And, he can’t just touch you like that. You can’t fucking let him. You can’t be okay with it, you can’t--

You let out a quiet curse when you sit in your car and pull your phone from your back pocket, the screen lighting up with a couple texts from the very person you’re trying to avoid thinking of. 

_**ERWIN, 4:12PM**  
Guess what we started today in class._

The following message is just a picture, the cover of Edith Hamilton’s _Mythology_ , and you snort to yourself, typing out a very quick, _Ew. I’ll be praying for your students._

You intend to leave it like that. Of course you do. You don’t even have anything else to say to the man and are, quite frankly, exhausted from the day.

But, then Erwin texts again as you’re driving, a witty and accurate, _I didn’t take you for the praying type_ , that makes your face heat up for some reason, followed by a harmless, _How are you today?_

And it’s there, seeping through the backlit screen: _worry_. Because you haven’t talked to Erwin since the party last week, haven’t even spoken to Levi save for when you picked Eren up from his class a couple days ago to take him home with you for baseball practice. Still, you managed to keep conversation to a minimum, a polite nod and _how’s it been today?_ It’s nothing that Levi has done. He hasn’t been pestering you or texting to check up even though you know he was there for that ordeal at his friend’s house. You know he has questions. 

But you don’t have answers.

Which is exactly why it’s so, _so_ stupid that instead of just using talk-to-text or simply _not responding_ to Erwin’s message like you should, you call him.

You _call_ him. Why would you--

_“Yes?”_

That one syllable. That single, low intonation that makes shivers run down your spine, makes your stomach somersault, your heart stutter-- _that’s_ why. That’s why you called him. You wanted to hear his voice. 

A few thoughts run through your head at once-- _Does he really answer the phone like that all the time? That’s so impolite! What if I had the wrong number?_ And, the most brilliant line of thinking, _fuck. I am so fucking fucked._

“Hey, sorry, I’m on the road right now,” is what miraculously comes out of your mouth rather than the anxious groan that’s building in your throat.

_“No worries. Watch out for cops, though. Hands-free only in the city,”_ Erwin chides in a mild, possibly amused tone. 

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, _dad_.”

He snorts, or maybe chokes, you can’t really tell, but it’s an undignified sound that makes you snicker as you merge onto the highway. 

“So, Mythology, huh?” You start, effectively launching you both into yet another discussion about literature. It’s the default setting for you and Erwin, a base to either start from or come back to whenever you feel the need. If you’re being honest, talking with Erwin is still a little uncomfortable, but it isn’t because he makes it that way. He’s very friendly, warm and welcoming and a damn good listener. He makes it so that it’s _hard_ to stop talking to him. Therein lies your actual problem. 

He tells you about the handful of students who have already been exposed to the book, describes the looks on their faces for you as you drive and snicker-- _“I am not lying when I say that this kid actually swore out loud in my class. I held up the--I’m not kidding! Listen!-- I held up the book, and he says, clear as day,_ god dammit, kill me.”

“I-- _hah_ \--I _relate_ ,” you giggle as you exit.

_“I do too, but, well, I guess I wasn’t expecting him to be so up front about it. To my face. I used to strike_ fear _in the hearts of my students.”_

“Sounds like you did again today by waving around Edith Hamilton,” you tease.

Erwin sighs on the other end, but you can tell he’s grinning. You can just feel it. The upturn of his lips. The bemused roll of blue eyes. You wish you could actually see it--

_No._

_“I suppose I did. Not all hope is lost. Anyway.”_

“Anyway,” you mimic. “What’re your plans for this weekend?” They don’t concern you, and you’re not interested, but…

_“Nothing noteworthy save for a certain little league game Levi wants me to sit through with him.”_

That thump in your chest falters as your throat tightens, fingers on the wheel gripping just a little harder. “Eren invited Levi?”

_“As children are wont to do.”_

“Yeah,” you breathe, mind taking on a faint buzz because this means…

_“Will you be there?”_

You nod before remembering Erwin can’t actually see the confirmation, clear your throat and tell him, “Yeah--Yes. Uh, Zeke is coaching, so…”

_“Right, sounds like… Wholesome family bonding.”_

An unsettled laugh bubbles from your mouth. “It really, really is.”

It _has_ been exceptionally adorable getting to see two of your favorite boys all red-faced and dirt-stained two nights out of the week. Plus, Zeke in his Under Armour compression shirt and rolled up baseball pants? It _does things_ to you. _That_ on top of how soft he is around all the kids--you don’t even _want_ a baby, and your ovaries screaming for attention. It’s just as disturbing as it is attractive. 

All that said, having Zeke and Erwin in the same vicinity again is a less than pleasing notion. It had been so tense in your classroom after Open House.

But really, what are the chances the two men will even exchange a glance, much less _words_ , during the game? The only reason you’re even worried is because Erwin attending means you’ll have to exhibit a fucking _modicum_ of self-control and not just blatantly gaze at him, probably shouldn’t sit too close either. 

It makes you feel sick to your stomach to think, but you have to take reasonable precaution because, for some maddening reason, you can’t seem to keep yourself entirely in check while around Erwin. You stare too long or talk too much or laugh too hard or _pass out_. 

And, it’s not like there’s anything to _hide_ from Zeke, but that’s just it. You want to keep it that way, nothing to hide, nothing happening with this _other man_ , but it gets harder and harder every time you see Erwin, every time you hear his voice, and you cannot stop that feeling. It’s like being a little kid and rolling down a hill, gaining speed and losing focus on everything around you until you’re twisting and tumbling and…

_Falling_.

You’re falling. 

“So yeah, um, I’ll see you there, I guess,” you state half-heartedly, pulling into your complex. 

Erwin hums. _“I guess you will.”_

You end the call just in time to reach your building, sliding into your usual spot next to Zeke’s lifted Bronco. 

It seems you have a lot more to think about than just the dream journal and sleeping pills Dr. Pixis had suggested. There is a new obstacle you’re faced with, one to plague you during your waking hours just as the terrors plague you at night. 

The idea. No. The _fact_ , that you have feelings--real, _romantic_ feelings--for a man other than your fiance, is a hard pill to swallow, infinitely harder than the benzos you’ve been popping since you were a teenager, but instead of washing it _down_ , you need to find a way to wash it away entirely.


	8. and the lingering scent as you whispered in my ear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks down the door* HELLO. WOW. sorry this took so long. i got very distracted by other things (*cough* haikyuu!! *cough*). hopefully this awful pining and wholesome bullshit kinda makes up for it. i also have a lil treat planned for the next chapter.

Lips on his neck. Fingernails scraping down his chest. Slick tongue tracing the jut of his hip bone, down, down, further down until he’s enveloped in heat. 

He keeps himself from bucking up into it—the epitome of restraint, but fuck, does he want to. He wants more, wants to be buried to the hilt, wants to sink into it and never lose it. 

Hollowed cheeks. A reverberating moan that makes his toes curl. He fists a hand in thick locks, rumbles out praise between stuttered gasps and hisses. 

Feels so good, so good, and as he peers down, he sees hooded eyes watching him, the picture of devotion and sin wrapped up together, and that’s all it takes for him to—

◇

Erwin wakes with a jolt, conscious body startling at the feeling of release in his dream, but when he glances down at himself, he rolls his tired eyes at the obvious tent beneath his blankets.

Typical.

This isn’t the first time he’s woken from a dream like this, and it surely won’t be the last. Letting his head fall back to his pillow, Erwin squeezes his eyes shut, sighs. It’s just painful at this point. The dreams. The feelings. The pining. 

And he’ll have to endure it all today. 

He swears quietly under his breath, eventually convinces himself to get out of bed and make his way to the bathroom. A hot shower is in order—a hot shower and a short, desperate _session_. Anything to get it out of his system. 

The spray is nice on his stiff muscles. Erwin assumes he didn’t move much during his sleep and spends the first couple minutes in the shower working out the ache in his shoulders and back. Then, it’s down to business. He braces an arm on the cool, tiled wall, hangs his head, then wraps his fingers around his hard cock and begins pumping himself lazily as he recalls his dream. 

You sliding over his body, kissing and nipping on your way down until you get to his pelvis, lapping at his leaking head before wrapping your mouth around it. 

Erwin thrusts into his hand, starts fisting his cock at a quicker pace as his breaths begin coming in shorter gasps. 

“Fuck." 

He remembers you staring up at him through dark lashes, the way your lips stretch into a perfect ‘O’ shape as you take his length deeper and deeper, his tip eventually hitting the back of your throat. You moan around him, and a pleasant tingle settles at the base of Erwin’s spine despite not being able to actually feel the warmth of your tongue on the underside of his cock, tracing along the prominent vein. 

It doesn’t take him long with the mental image of you pleasuring him so lewdly, saliva pooling at the corners of your lips, eyes brimming with tears. You slurp and lick and taste every inch of Erwin, and the imagined sounds have him pivoting so he can shoot strings of white into the near scalding spray of the shower. He strokes himself until he’s twitching then finally holds his hand under the water, washing it of any evidence of what he’s just done. 

Part of him feels guilty, doing such a thing without your knowledge. It feels dirty, like some kind of sick betrayal. On the other hand, he’s done this and more with you as a willing participant. It softens the blow slightly but not quite enough to get rid of the queasy feeling in his gut. If you knew—the you in this life—you’d most likely be disgusted. 

If only you could remember the time you spent with Erwin. It wasn’t a _long_ time, nowhere near as long as it should have been, but then, everything was temporary in Paradis. At least he was able to have and hold you for that short period.

Erwin would give anything to be able to do that now, misses the weight of you in his left arm, the way you would curl into his side as you came down from your climax, sweaty bodies pressed together. 

He also misses the way you would seek comfort in him, knocking on his door late at night with the intention of crawling into bed with him. The two of you would talk about expeditions, sometimes plans for the future, what you might do if you were to survive it all—nothing but false hopes, but they were enough to make you smile softly and nuzzle into the crook of Erwin’s neck. 

He finishes rinsing off, steps out of the shower and towel dries his hair and body. Wanting to be as comfortable as possible for the trying day ahead of him, Erwin pulls on his favorite pair of jeans and an old forest green V-neck, never fully having outgrown the color. At 8 AM, he still has several hours until the baseball game, and he spends them grading papers and trying not to get lost in memories. Erwin does that a lot, now more than ever before. 

His Classics students’ essays are just interesting enough to keep him focused, though, and before Erwin knows it, his phone buzzes with a text from Levi announcing that he’s out front. 

The smaller man looks less than pleased to be on his way to a little league game. Even behind the dark-tinted sunglasses, Erwin can see the scowl on his friend’s face as he drops into the passenger seat of his car—a sleek Corvette that serves as the only thing in Levi’s life that’s even a little showy. 

“Oh, come on, Captain. It won’t be that bad,” Erwin grins at him. 

Levi grumbles something nearly unintelligible under his breath, something about ‘brats’ and ‘not even real baseball’, but he still pulls out of Erwin’s driveway and through the neighborhood. It’s a mostly silent drive to the community center that’s home to all manner of sports, but Levi does pipe up once just to ask, “You know monkey boy will be here, right?”

“I’m aware, yes,” Erwin answers, staring out the window. “I doubt he’s expecting me to show up, however.”

Levi snorts. “Why d’you think I asked you to come in the first place?”

Turning to look at the brunet, Erwin raises his eyebrows. “I figured you just didn’t want to be alone on the bleachers watching a group of five-year-olds tottle around a field.”

“Well, yeah, but also ‘cause I wanna see his face when he sees you.”

Rolling his eyes, Erwin fights another smile. “You’re much less mature in this life, you know.”

“I think I deserve the right to be a little petty, thank you very fucking much.”

Erwin hums in thought then nods. “I suppose you do.”

“What I wouldn’t give to slice that bastard up one more time.”

There isn’t much Erwin can respond with. He too feels that blind rage, a fury that’s burning him up from the inside. He wants to scream and curse, wants to know what it feels like to slam his knuckles into Zeke’s face, wants to see the other man curled on the ground and _just keep kicking him,_ wants to—

Erwin doesn’t show it, though, remains calm and collected as Levi parks the car and the two of them walk to the fields. They take up a couple spots on the wooden bleachers, absentmindedly watching the kids warm up with a young man who’s wearing a red jersey that matches theirs until Erwin becomes antsy and starts searching the small crowd of giddy parents for any sign of you, the shimmer of your hair in the beaming sun or maybe the sound of your melodious laugh—anything. 

That calm and collected demeanor cracks right down the middle when he does finally find you. You’re by the dugout a little off to the side of the bleachers, giving Erwin a perfect view of you leaning against the metal fence as you talk with your fiance. You giggle and bat your eyelashes as you reach forward to trail a hand down his arm as the two of you talk—nothing inappropriate, but obviously flirty and mischievous judging by the smirk on Zeke’s face. You’re absolutely smitten. It makes Erwin sick to his stomach. 

"Fucking disgusting,” Levi grunts, apparently having followed Erwin’s line of sight. “You’d think she’d have some kind of gut feeling telling her to stay the fuck away from him, but nope.”

“No such luck,” Erwin mutters, fists clenching on his thighs as he watches Zeke step forward and whisper something in your ear. It makes you flush and bite your lower lip, and God, Erwin could strangle him because he shouldn’t be so close to you. He shouldn’t be _allowed_ , doesn’t even deserve to be in your presence. Erwin hates him. With every fiber of his being, he _hates_ him. 

Naturally, it’s when Erwin looks especially murderous that you glance to the stands and see him sitting with Levi. He does his best to soften his face, but he can still faintly taste the bile that’s rising in his throat, so all he manages is a sickly grimace that makes you quirk an eyebrow at him. Zeke notices your shift in attention, cold eyes roaming over the small crowd until they land on Erwin. He sucks his front teeth, shakes his head, and Erwin flexes his hands, refusing to break eye contact with the other man—refusing to back down. 

“Christ, you may as well be wearing a t-shirt that says _‘I wanna fuck your fiance’_ ,” Levi snorts. “I only brought you here for entertainment purposes. Do I have to worry about you making a scene like you did at the school?”

Erwin’s head swivels to his friend, and he mentally curses himself for letting Zeke win whatever silent battle they were having but still protests, “I didn’t make a scene.”

“Erwin,” Levi rolls his eyes. “You had the fucker up against a wall. Pretty sure you would have started trading blows with him if I hadn’t walked up.”

“I—” Erwin stops short, purses his lips because he knows Levi has a point. Any longer and the two men would have absolutely started fighting like a couple of grade-school kids. It’s embarrassing, but…

Sighing, Levi leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he speaks without looking at Erwin. “You pride yourself on having all this self-control, but then you let it falter as soon as you see him. You can’t do that, Erwin. You can’t let him think he’s won.”

“He hasn’t won.”

“Yeah, I know that, and you know that, but you’re still giving the asshole reason to be a smug little shit. The more you show how upset you are, the more annoying he’s gonna get. He’s gonna start baiting you and try to get you to fly off the handle, and if you’re not fuckin’ careful, you’re gonna end up getting arrested or some shit.”

Erwin scoffs. “I will not get arrested.”

Leveling a very unimpressed look at him, Levi states, “You almost beat the shit out of him. In an _elementary school_. You need step back and bide your fucking time.”

God, Erwin hates when Levi is right. He doesn’t tease him about it, doesn’t condescend, but Erwin knows his friend is thinking it, and that’s enough to annoy him. 

Clamping a strong hand down on Erwin’s shoulder, Levi smirks. “Just wait it out. She’ll come back.”

Dragging his hands down his face, Erwin lets out a quiet groan, and when Levi mumbles something about him being dramatic again, Erwin glares only to get an elbow to the ribs and a vague gesture to the side. He follows Levi’s motion, inhales deeply when he sees you making your way up the bleachers, taking long strides until you’re walking on the bench they’re currently seated on. You cautiously make your way over, and just like that, all the anger Erwin was feeling is just _gone_. He smiles up at you, extends a hand for you to grab as you hop down to the concrete and damns his heart for the way it races in his chest when you slip your fingers into his. 

It’s so natural and right, and you fit so perfectly in his gentle grasp, and _God_ , he wants to hold you in his lap, wants to lock his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your shoulder and nose at that little patch of skin behind your ear that gives you goosebumps. He knows it does, used to do it in the privacy of his quarters at the old base inside Wall Rose. But he can’t do any of that, and it is _killing_ him.

“How are y’all doing today?” You ask sweetly, taking up the place next to Erwin and letting go of his hand. His heart breaks a little at the loss of contact, but at least you’re still there—bright eyed and smelling of sweet sunscreen. Your hair is up in a bun to keep you from getting too hot, and Erwin swallows as he subtly follows the slope of your neck down to your bare shoulders, the dip of your tank-top that displays your collarbones and the soft skin of your chest, red material covering the swell of—

You clear your throat quietly, and Erwin meets your eyes again, blushes furiously at the knowing look in your eyes. Not so subtle, after all. 

“Jesus Christ,” he hears Levi grumble before leaning forward to look at you from the side. “We’re doing great, thanks,” then swiftly kicks Erwin’s ankle. 

“Yeah? That’s good. I’m glad you came. Eren’s really excited you’re here, Levi.”

“Yeah, well, couldn’t exactly say no to the brat.”

“What, did he hit you with the big, green eyes?”

Levi fights a smile. “Maybe.”

Erwin chuckles through his nose, willing the heat in his face to go away. Levi has always had a bit of a soft spot for the moody boy, even back when he beat him to hell in court. It feels like forever ago—Erwin supposes it was—an entirely different life, but he remembers that day so clearly, remembers Paradis so clearly, all the fighting both inside the walls and out, from the loss of his father to the loss of his arm, his _life_.

And yet, he’d do it all again. For you. 

“Five years old, and he already knows how to manipulate people,” you laugh, looking out to the field where the kids are lining up to begin their game. 

After an off-key rendition of the national anthem, the opposing team, sat on the other side of the field, waddle onto the green and do their best to take up the positions they’ve been taught—shortstop with his glove on his head, a kid in the outfield bending over and examining something in the grass and another waving frantically to his family in the bleachers. It’s sure to be an amusing game.

Eren’s team, clad in red, takes turns going up to bat, pausing just outside of the dugout so that Zeke can fit a helmet on their heads before they walk up to the plate and swing wildly at the ball sitting on its stand. Levi chuckles and shakes his head every time a kid tries too hard and loses their balance (which happens quite often), but he does clap and whistle when Eren lands a hit and starts running. You stand abruptly, cup your hands around your mouth as you shout, “Go, Eren! Keep running!”

Considering how long it takes for the outfielder to find the baseball, Eren makes it all the way around, dropping down and sliding into home with surprising accuracy, then standing and raising both arms above his head. He earns himself a loud cheer from the stands and a pat on the head from his older brother before walking back into the dugout with a shit-eating grin, one Erwin knows very well, even if it’s on the face of a five-year-old rather than an over-confident teen. 

Erwin spends most of the game clapping and trying not to laugh every time you shoot up from your seat and jump excitedly. You’re so full of life and spirit and joy. You’re vibrant, so _alive_. It looks beautiful on you. You make easy conversation with him and Levi throughout the game. If you’re bothered by the way Erwin had stared at you earlier, you don’t show it, seem completely relaxed sitting there next to him and don’t even flinch when your knees knock into his every once in a while. 

It’s friendly. Easy. Not at all what Erwin wants, but still something. 

There are no winners or losers in little league apparently, but Eren’s team obviously scores more runs thanks to a small dark-haired girl, a little blond boy, and Eren himself. After an hour or so of sitting in the sun, the crowd of family and friends stands and claps for all the young players as they clumsily shake hands with their opponents. 

“Y'all come down to the dugout so Eren can thank you for coming to his game,” you command more than ask, waiting for the people in front of you to leave so that you can walk down the bleachers like a flight of stairs. Having no reason to argue other than wanting to avoid the team’s coach, both Erwin and Levi follow you down to the field. 

The boys (and single young girl) are all sucking down bottled water and gatorade when the trio arrives, but it takes Eren less than a second to recognize Levi, and he’s immediately on his feet and launching himself at the surly brunet.

“Mr. Levi! Mr. Levi! You’re here! Thank you! Wow, I can’t believe—”

Eren orbits his teacher like a planet as Levi quickly introduces Erwin, and the boy bounces jovially the whole time until the teacher puts a steadying hand on his damp hair and asks, “Aren’t sports supposed to wear you out? How do you still have so much energy?”

“I’m excited!” Eren tells him without no hesitation, bright eyes glittering with admiration as he stares up at Levi. Also—Also, Zeke said they don’t do points, but—but we won! I know we won!”

“How do you know you won if you don’t keep score?” Levi drawls, resigning himself to the fate of having a small child attached to his leg. 

“Because I keep a notebook to jot down what we need to work on,” Zeke answers, sauntering over to the group as he lifts his baseball cap to push blond hair from his face. Erwin stiffens but shows no other outward sign of distaste. 

Letting out a scoff, Levi goads, “You realize they’re five, right?”

“Gotta start ‘em young,” Zeke shrugs. “Who knows? I could have the next Nolan Ryan on this team.”

Stepping away from Erwin, you snort and pace over to the other man, move to touch him then pull back and make a face. “You’re all sweaty.”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s hot.” As if to further his point, Zeke uses the bottom of his jersey to wipe his face, and Erwin has to glance away because he can see your posture shift, body language advertising your interest in your fiance and his newly exposed skin as you tilt your head and bite your lip, and Erwin just might _vomit_. 

Thankfully, Levi picks up on Erwin’s obvious irritation and nudges him. “You ready to go?”

“Whenever you are,” Erwin gruffs, rocking on the balls of his feet and looking anywhere but at you and Zeke.

Escape is near, close enough to taste. Erwin is glad he could see you, always happy to talk and make you laugh and admire everything about you, but… It comes with a cost, now—one Erwin doesn’t much feel like paying today, and he almost gets away with it until—

“Wait, Mr. Levi, you’re not gonna come to the pizza party?”

“P—pizza…?” Levi looks at Eren in confusion before raising his gaze to Zeke who is seven shades of annoyed. 

Erwin hears him mumble a very low, “Jesus Christ, fuckin’ killin’ me, kid,” which makes you turn to him, all high-eyebrows and curt tone when you admonish, _“Language, babe.”_

The other kids are preoccupied with the second coach, another thin blond named Colt who’s giving pats on the back, good-natured noogies, and all kinds of praise. They’re much too busy to notice the thick animosity between Levi and their coach as the two glare at each other, Eren looking between them eagerly. 

“Eren, I don’t really think Mr. Levi wants to—”

“No, it’s fine,” Levi states, and Erwin suppresses a smirk as Zeke’s expression contorts into something angry and accusatory. “I like pizza. We both do, right Erwin?”

Erwin isn’t a huge fan, in all honesty, and he isn’t fond of the idea of having to spend more time watching you lust after Zeke, but that furious glint in the other man’s eyes is enough to convince Erwin to go along with it, which is how he finds himself walking up to a fucking _fun center_ alongside Levi, watching as a gaggle of kids and parents make their way inside. 

Erwin reaches up and laces his hands together behind his head, walking at a leisurely pace into the shade of the building just in time to see you hop out of a black Bronco and open the back passenger door to retrieve Eren. With the still red-faced boy settled on your hip, you start walking toward where Erwin and Levi have stopped on the sidewalk, Zeke locking the vehicle and jogging to catch up. Erwin isn’t too concerned with him, though, not when you’re smiling so gleefully, arms locked around the little boy and looking so natural and comfortable.

You hadn’t wanted children in Paradis. It was something you and Erwin had talked about once very briefly, the both of you deciding against bringing another human into such a horrific world even if you had been holding onto a shred of hope for a better future. 

But, now… You look radiant. Warm and inviting and triggering every one of Erwin’s primal instincts as he thinks about how much he wants you, wants to be _buried inside of you_ —not a very appropriate train of thought as you all walk into the establishment meant for family entertainment, but it’s there, nestled in his brain with no signs of leaving any time soon. 

The high-pitched shrieking of ecstatic children kills some of Erwin’s desire, his senses suddenly assaulted by a variety of different sights, sounds, and smells. 

“Why do places like this always smell like cheese?” Levi muses, squinting at his busy surroundings. “I can’t tell if it’s the pizza or the feet.”

“Wha—”

“Hey, no one’s asking you to stay, Levi,” Zeke naturally pipes up.

You resituate Eren in your arms as if to display him, look to your fiance in a stern way that makes Erwin shiver and grin internally. “Eren is asking him to stay. Right, bud?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes!” The boy sings and wriggles until you have no choice but to put him down, and he dances around the four adults like a child possessed. 

The other teammates and parents trickle in, Zeke and Colt directing them to a large table next to the impressive roller-rink. Everywhere Erwin looks, there’s bright patterns, brighter lights, and the blurry movements of children hyped up on sugar and games. From where he’s standing, he can see a vast selection of arcade cabinets lining one long wall, a mini-golf course, a laser-tag arena, and a high ropes course up above. He can also make out the sound of go-kart motors coming from somewhere, echoing through the building and joining the cacophony of laughs and shouts. 

Wrangled into one area, the kids devour the few pizzas that get brought to the table as Erwin and Levi stand off to the side, talking only to each other unless prompted by Eren who is over the moon about being able to introduce his favorite teacher to his team. 

“Pretty sure I’m the only teacher you’ve ever had, kid,” Levi says after swallowing a mouthful of crust.

“Nuh uh! I was in daycare before kindergarten!”

“Nice try. Doesn’t count.”

Erwin watches, amused, trying his hardest to keep an eye on the kids rather than stare at you at the end of the table, speaking animatedly to the only girl on the team as she pantomimes batting to demonstrate her baseball _prowess_. Zeke is next to you, chuckling and wiping marinara sauce off the side of your mouth with his thumb, altogether ignoring Erwin and Levi’s existence which is fine by both of them.

They just need to get through the celebratory lunch, and then they can leave. That’s all.

“Mr. Levi! Race me!”

“Excuse me?”

“Need For Speed! Race me!”

Levi blinks down at Eren, and Erwin’s stomach sinks a little lower because he knows his friend, once again, will not be able to say no. No matter how big and bad Levi acts, at the root of it all is a very nurturing man with an enormous weakness for cute kids. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so endearing. 

Blowing air through puckered lips, Levi glances at Erwin, shrugs his shoulders, then tells the little boy, “Just a couple games, alright? I can’t stay too long.”

“Right! Okay!”

And, like that, the captain is whisked away, led by the tiny hand clutching the hem of his shirt. Erwin wants to be annoyed, but the truth is it’s good to see Jaeger happy, even as a small child with no recollection of what happened before. That had been a hard life, and he more than deserves to have some fun with arcade games and a long-lost friend. 

“Looks like you’ve been abandoned,” your voice pulls Erwin from his musings as you make your way over to him. The children are beginning to disband, wandering off with parents to buy charge cards for game credits. You straddle the bench Erwin is sitting on backwards, flip hair over your shoulder. He is absolutely mesmerized. 

“Looks like I have been,” Erwin nods, then glances around and quirks an eyebrow when he realizes, “Seems I’m not the only one, though.”

You jerk your head toward the line for the laser-tag arena, and Erwin immediately spots Zeke, Colt, and two of the players. “Gabi and Falco wanted to play. Not really my thing.”

“No?”

“No, but they’ll have fun. I’d much rather just sit and watch the chaos.”

Erwin chuckles, leans back against the table and kicks an ankle over his knee. He catches sight of the ropes course above, children and adults alike in harnesses attached to the track overhead as they carefully make their way around it. It’s nothing fancy, about twenty feet off the ground and one big square of thick cords and wobbly steps. The people playing yell and sway and grip the wires they’re attached to as if they’ll actually die. Erwin stares up at it, reminisces on the harnesses and wires from the past—the whir of motors, release of pressurized gas, the crunch of bark and wood when impaled by an anchor—this is just _quaint_. 

“Wanna try?” You ask, clueless as to where Erwin’s mind really is.

He looks to you, your curious expression, the little upturn of your lips and large doe eyes, and can’t stop himself from teasing, “Sure, but only so I can watch you fall.”

Your jaw drops, but the little smile of amusement doesn’t vanish even as you stand. “I’ll have you know, I have impeccable coordination, thank you very much.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

You curl fingers around Erwin’s wrist and tug him toward the queue in a somewhat bratty fashion, spouting off about being in gymnastics as a child then basketball and track, and _‘my balance is amazing, okay?’_. Erwin knows this already, would have put money on it because you had the grace of a ballerina back in Paradis—of course you would here too—but, it’s very entertaining to watch you puff your chest and act affronted as you spout off your records. 

Erwin pays in cash instead of with the game card, takes the harness handed to him and slips it on without any problems, tightening the buckles and _adjusting_ himself for minimal discomfort. You seem to struggle a little, though, a perfect opportunity for Erwin to mouth off, “Oh, yes, you’re truly proving your athletic ability here by not knowing how to work a simple harness.”

“Are you sassing me, Erwin Smith?”

He gives you that lopsided smile that makes you blush _every_ time, then kneels to take a look at the gear at your waist and releases an undignified snort. “It’s backwards, dear.”

“I—”

“Here—” Erwin shimmies the harness down over your hips and thighs without a second thought, lets it fall to your ankles then commands, “Step out,” which you do with a huff. Erwin swings it around for you to get back into, draws it up over your jeans and only realizes his hands are shaking when he goes to adjust the strap over your left hip. His fingers tremble as he grips the buckle, refusing to acknowledge the desire to just slip them underneath your shirt, feel your smooth skin, always so soft against his calloused palms… No, he can’t think about that now, just moves to adjust the opposite strap.

“Too tight?” Erwin questions as he takes steadying breaths.

You don’t answer right away, causing Erwin to glance up at you only to find you staring down at him with cloudy eyes. Heat blooms deep in his gut, spreading to every limb and leaving goosebumps in its wake. The last time he saw that glazed-over look on your face was—well, technically this morning when he was dreaming about it, but—

“Is it too tight?” He asks again, voice a little lower this time as he hooks fingers into the lowest straps that encircle your thighs, giving them a little tug. It catches you off guard, makes you teeter and place a hand on the top of Erwin’s head for balance, and Erwin almost falters, comes so fucking close to just resting his forehead against your stomach as he kneels there in front of you, hands on your hips, worshiping you like the goddess you are. He didn’t get enough time to do it before, but he would gladly spend the rest of his days showering you with all the love and devotion you deserve. _Gladly_.

Finally, you shake your head in response to his question, and Erwin summons every ounce of inner strength he possesses and stands back up, remembers exactly where he is and coughs into his shoulder to try to get rid of the strain in his throat, then begins walking up the stairs that lead to the actual course. An attendant hooks the two of you to the cable above, Erwin in front, and with your amused but still slightly dazed motion to _“go right ahead,”_ he steps onto the first thick rope.

He comes back to himself like that—both of you do—focusing on staying upright, giggling like school children as you both make your way around, looking down on the flashing lights of the video games, the clumsy roller-skaters clinging to the walls of the rink, and the neon mini-golf course. 

It’s all so light-hearted, something that, even after all his time on this Earth, Erwin still isn’t quite used to. Life is easy here; he has a job he loves, the same best friends living their own, happier lives, and he can do stuff like this without having to worry about losing funding for an entire military regiment or his comrades getting devoured. Life is good.

But, it could still be better.

You let out a panicked, “Wh- _oah,_ ” as you make your way across the last rope to the platform Erwin is already standing on, placing one foot in front of the other and focusing entirely too hard. Erwin can’t hear it, but he can see your lips forming the word, “Fuck,” over and over, making him laugh and walk to the edge to hold out a hand for you.

 _“No,”_ you shout, giggle nervously afterward as you wobble in place. “I can do it myself. I told you I could!”

“And, I believe you, but—”

You cover the last few feet of rope in several mouse-like steps. but your forward momentum has you running straight into Erwin, head knocking into his sternum and forcing a small, _“Mmf,”_ from you before you step back and smile sheepishly. 

He blinks down at you, resists the impulse to pull you back against him, then swallows thickly and motions to the staircase behind him. “Shall we?”

“We shall.”

◆

Neither of you are at all aware of the pair of icy eyes watching from the ground, cold and analytical and _seething_.

“Fantastic,” Zeke mutters from where he’s leaning against the old _Galaga_ arcade game. “Just fan-fucking-tastic.”

“Huh? You say somethin’, bro?” Colt peeks around the cabinet, takes in Zeke’s sour expression and follows his gaze. “Oh, right,” he nods. “What, uh, what’re you gonna do about that mess?”

Inhaling slowly, Zeke sets his jaw, cracks his knuckles as he watches Smith help you out of your harness. And, you just _let him_ , hold onto his shoulder as you step out of the straps then beam at him as he straightens. 

The fucking Commander.

Complete _annihilation_ is tempting even in this life, but Zeke can’t just _kill_ him no matter how much the demon inside him screams for it. Consequences are different here, and he can’t risk losing you to them. 

“Zeke?”

He glances over at Colt who still looks at him in reverence, just like he and the other younger Warriors did back in Marley. 

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out. I always do.” Zeke runs his tongue over his teeth, crosses his arms over his chest as he contemplates his next move, what his best course of action is. “You guys called me your war chief for a reason, didn’t you?”

Colt grins and nods as he straightens up. “Yes sir, we did.”

“That’s what I thought.”


	9. would fade forever in the vivid sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**TW: noncon** _
> 
> **key:** ~ _Paradis/Marley timeline_ | ◄ _five years ago_ | ◆ _current timeline_

~

“I am _begging_ you,” Reiner gasps, grabs Zeke by the shoulders and hangs his head. “Please, just do this for me.”

Shrugging out of his grip, Zeke steps back. “I already have a plan. I can’t promise any one person will come out of it unscathed.”

The younger Warrior stares at him with wide, watery eyes. “Just try. Please. She’s like—” Reiner swallows audibly, sniffs. “She’s always had my back. I broke her fucking heart, and I—She’s like a sister. I need her to stay alive.”

Zeke squints at him, reaches up to scratch his ear as he processes the information from his subordinate. He knows Reiner got close with the Scouts, too close. Close enough to addle his fragile little brain. But this… For him to ask Zeke to save one of them so he can—what—apologize? Make up and pretend everything is better?

“It’s unlikely she’ll survive, but I’ll do my best. You need to focus on your job, though. Don’t let me down, Braun.”

Reiner straightens, clears his throat and nods. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me just yet.” 

He thinks the same thing again when the Commander of the Scouts leads the suicide charge. Zeke sees a female riding right alongside him, hair wild in the wind, screaming and brandishing a useless sword. Somehow… Somehow Zeke just knows. You’re who Reiner was talking about. He can feel the dedication and valor emanating from you even from such a far distance. 

With every pitch, Zeke waits for the dust to clear, waits to see if you’re still riding. Surely, he’s managed to wipe all of you out. 

But, no. Even after the Commander has fallen, you’re still emerging through the particles and debris at top speed, and Zeke begins to wonder if he’ll actually be able to fulfill Reiner’s request. Will you actually make it? 

The last round hits you, basically explodes the horse you're on and sends you bloody and flying through the air. Zeke isn’t all that fazed. It’s not his problem, though he will have to deal with adding one more thing to Reiner’s ever-growing list of traumas. 

It’s a little embarrassing how distracted Zeke had gotten while throwing the rocks—so distracted that he didn’t even notice the Ackerman wiping out the ring of Titans surrounding him.

The fight is short and very painful, actually makes Zeke fear for his life, but Pieck gets to him just in time, scooping him into her mouth and carrying him gently between her teeth. As she gallops toward the wall, Zeke grunts when he feels something bump against what remains of his left arm, figures it’s Reiner further back on Pieck’s tongue for safe keeping. 

He’s wrong however, asks about the younger man as he gets situated on the Cart Titan’s back and learns he’s still inside the Wall, fighting alongside Bertholdt’s colossal form. 

“Then what—”

“Reiner’s friend is alive,” Pieck tells him in a distorted voice. “I found her still breathing. He’ll want to take her back with us.”

And take you back, they do, all the way to Marley.

◄

Zeke walks into the bar with low expectations. It’s small and a little dirty, as expected from any establishment in such a small town, but he’ll make do with what he’s got. He really just wants a cold beer and to watch the game somewhere other than his apartment (equally small and dirty if he’s being honest). Plus, it wouldn’t kill him to start mingling with the locals. He’s still new here, still getting strange looks in the one grocery store—the slightly judgmental, _“You’re not from around here, are ya’, boy?”_ It’s condescending and very annoying, but…

It’s better than staying in the city and having to deal with his father and oh-so doting stepmother. Just thinking about them makes him scowl. 

The bar is surprisingly busy. It is a Friday, but Zeke hadn’t been expecting a legitimate crowd packed into such a tiny place. He comes close to walking right back outside when he catches sight of an employee setting up a stage for karaoke, tells himself he’ll stay for however many drinks he can down in two innings then high-tail it out of there. That’s it. He’s setting a time limit. Hopefully, it’ll be long enough for him to get a pleasant buzz, show his face a bit, and maybe, if he’s lucky, meet some cute country girl who’ll agree to sleep with him. That might be setting his sights a little high, though.

Taking a place at the bar, Zeke orders a fucking Rolling Rock which toes the very thin line between drinkable and undrinkable for his _refined_ pallet, but it’s literally the best this place has got. The kid behind the bartop uses his blade to crack it open for Zeke, slides it to him, then of course asks, “Haven’t seen you around here. What’s your name?”

Zeke takes a swig, tries not to hiss at the taste, then answers. “Zeke Yeager. New in town.”

“Thought so. Where ya’ from?”

He makes idle conversation, figures if there’s anyone he should make friends with, it's his bartender. The young man will probably be seeing a lot of him.

The only problem is that… Zeke doesn’t really like people. The only friends he’s truly had were from high school, and that’s really just because of the history they all shared. He’s extremely thankful to have met up with Pieck and Colt again, but it spoiled him, made it hard to relate to anyone else in this strange life. 

The game starts. A couple guys sit next to Zeke and commentate for most of the first inning. It irritates him at first, but he eventually joins, fakes his way through more friendly chit-chat until all three of them get distracted by the sound of giddy shouts and laughs. 

“We’re gonna get you fucked up tonight!”

“You deserve to let loose after workin’ so hard!”

“I’ll go order us a round of shots! Come help me pick. I’ll pay!”

Zeke leans to the side as two young women are suddenly nestled up against the bar right next to him. He glares at their obvious lack of personal awareness but bites his tongue before saying something rude to them. 

And, thank god for that restraint because as soon as the girls start talking to the bartender, he recognizes it, the cheerful melody of your voice.

What are the fucking odds?

He takes another sip of beer to hide the smirk curling onto his face, heart beginning to beat a little faster as he considers just what might happen here in the next several seconds.

Fuck, this is going to be fun. You’re going to be livid, and Zeke is going to delight in it. He always has—your little spitfire attitude, always unleashing the most scathing insults, fighting him tooth and nail on everything. Some of it, of course, was warranted. Zeke didn’t exactly make things easy for you in Marley. In fact, he made your life a nightmare.

And, he had a good time doing it.

Turning slightly on his stool, Zeke readies himself to catch your hand when you inevitably move to slap him across the face, just like you have so many times before. He may as well be trained for it at this point, able to easily bind both of your wrists in his fingers, making sure the little bones crunch together. He just loves the way it makes you gasp and bare your teeth. 

Zeke was a sadist back then, had fun watching you fall apart as he wrecked you in every way he could. He will absolutely enjoy doing it all over again, is almost giddy with the excitement of it. 

Then— _then_ —things get even better. He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what kind of deity would grace him with such a thrilling opportunity, but something did because when you do finally catch sight of him, you don’t lunge for him, don’t try to hit him. No, all you do is smile and nod, and Zeke realizes you don’t remember _anything_.

Oh, you poor thing.

~

You groan as soon as you see Zeke step into your holding cell, shake your head slowly as your shoulders slump.

“What the fuck do you want?” You growl, peering at him through greasy locks and sucking your teeth.

Smirking, Zeke walks forward, crouches in front of you and pushes some of your hair behind your ear before raising your face to look at him. 

“Just checking in. How’re you feeling?”

You jerk your chin away and glare, refusing to answer. 

“Oh, don’t be like that. I’ve been nothing but hospitable since you got here.” His own joke makes him chuckle, and he glances at the cuff around your ankle, the metal leaving a dark bruise on your chafed skin. 

“Get away from me.”

He grips your jaw firmly, forces your head to the side so that he can examine the bandages wrapped around your head. How you managed to get through that massacre with nothing more than a scrape and concussion is beyond him, but he’s thankful for it, would have hated to ruin such a pretty face. 

“Not bleeding through the gauze anymore, so that’s good,” he comments with a nod, ignoring the way you try to pull away from him. “Should be fully healed in no time. Reiner will be happy to hear that once he’s lucid again.”

You clench your jaw, an obvious sign that you have something to say but are keeping it to yourself. Of course you would.

“Come on, just open up for me.” He squeezes your face, fingertips digging into your cheeks so that your jaw drops, and you grunt in discomfort. Zeke stares at your mouth, your chapped lips and slick tongue, idly muses about all the ways he can get you to talk. 

“No? Fine. Just know that I’ll be back.”

He releases you, stands up and turns his back then chuckles when he hears you spit at him from behind. Your voice is low and full of fury when you speak, “When I get out of here, I’ll kill you.”

“Yeah?” Zeke glances over his shoulder. “We’ll see about that.”

He and the rest of the Marleyan military have no plans to let you go any time soon. You’re nothing more than a captive here, and they’ll use you as they wish.

◄

It’s too good. This is just _too good_. You and your friend order your shots, and the entire time you’re standing there, you keep glancing over to Zeke, little side-eyes you think he doesn’t notice, but he does. He’s so incredibly aware of every move you make, it would terrify you.

He goes out on a limb when you look at him again, trying to act subtle when you scan the bar only for your gaze to fall to him. Zeke smiles around the rim of his beer bottle, turns his head just enough to catch your stare, and winks. The way you try to hide your grin by biting your lip makes Zeke want to hurt you in the best way possible. 

The shots you order are placed on a small tray on the counter, and as your friend goes to pay, Zeke whistles to get the bartender's attention, hands him his card. “I’ve got it.”

He probably shouldn’t be spending so frivolously, but well, if it means getting in good with you (getting in you), Zeke will do just about anything. 

You turn to face him fully, cross your arms over your chest in that way all girls do when they want guys to look at their tits, and Zeke gladly does, taking in your frame as slowly and lasciviously as possible so that you understand exactly where is mind is (well, maybe not _exactly_ where it is). 

“Pretty generous of a stranger,” you say, eyes dancing with interest.

Zeke chuckles through his nose, swivels on his stool. “Hoping if I play my cards right, I won’t be a stranger for long.”

You laugh, shake your head like you can’t even believe yourself, your behavior. Honestly, Zeke can’t either. This is so, so different from how you were in Marley. 

“I don’t even know your name.”

He holds out a hand, “Zeke Yeager,” watches your face for any sign of recognition, and when none show, his stomach flips. This is really happening. 

You wrap dainty fingers around his palm, introduce yourself, and Zeke can’t help the shit-eating grin that spreads across his face when he says, “Nice to meet you.”

Your friend picks up the tray of shots, even bolder than you when she flippantly says, “Babe, just bring him to the table. You have all night to flirt.”

Shrugging, you quirk an eyebrow in question, and Zeke rises from his seat, coolly asks, “What are we celebrating?”

“New job,” you answer, leading him to the back where three other females about your age are waiting. 

“Also, graduating! Don’t leave that part out,” your friend says proudly. 

Just to be safe, Zeke ventures, “College?” Small towns are apparently home to some of the craziest kids, and you do have a bit of a baby face. 

You look up at him, show a knowing little smile and respond, “I’d sure hope so. For your sake.”

It’s a very entertaining evening for Zeke, surrounded by a flock of cute girls—one being you—getting tipsy, listening to tales of your time in school. You tell him you want to be a teacher, need to get the last dregs of your “wild child” habits out of your system before being put in charge of a class of kindergarteners. 

Zeke will gladly help you with that.

As the night carries on, he keeps expecting for it to click in your head, for you to look at him and get hit with everything, all the memories of your last life, what you went through, what he put you through. 

But you just continue to drink and flirt. You’re silly and witty, every bit as brazen as you were before, and Zeke finds himself charmed, laughing as you and two of your friends sing some vaguely familiar song up on the stage, catching you when you stumble right into his lap, assuring your friends he’ll take _good care_ of you as you walk from the building basically hanging off his arm. 

The drive to his apartment is short and bumpy (as are most in this bum-fuck town), spent talking the way you two have been all night, though everything is laced with more innuendo now. The tension builds all the way to Zeke’s home, through the parking lot, up the stairs until he’s finally got you inside, hands on either side of your face, and he has to just stop for a moment—stop and stare, because holy shit, he could not have predicted this. Of all the people he could have met and taken home tonight…

Your lips are wet and hot against his as you push yourself up on your toes, gripping the front of his shirt for balance. He holds you by the back of the neck for a moment, breathing deeply as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, and you’re so good—taste so good, sound so good, feel so good pressed up against him, he can’t even make sense of it because the last time he did this with you—

~

“You fucking psychopath! Get off!”

Zeke spends the better part of three months trying to crack you, to get you to talk to him or anyone for that matter, but you just won’t, not even Reiner who has been spending most of his evenings in front of your cell begging you to speak with him. 

Still, through the cycle of shouted insults and silent treatments, Zeke has grown oddly fond of you, your never-ending rage and unbreakable spirit. Even in a weakened state, you still manage to spit curse after curse at him, sometimes land a few blows on his person too. You will not back down, alive on nothing but pure spite and sorrow.

Zeke likes it. Too much. He just can’t stay away. Whether you’re weeping silently against the stone wall or screaming at your captors to leave you alone, Zeke wants to be there to see it—the way your hands tremble as you hold your face, how your chest heaves when you shout, the way your lips pull back from your teeth. You’re like the feral cats that roam the back streets of Liberio—hissing and doing everything you can to survive in a place you aren’t meant to be. He is enamored.

It’s… unfamiliar. And troubling. This feeling of wonder and fascination that so quickly consumes him. Zeke has only ever lived his life as a means to an end. He has never belonged to himself, a Warrior through and through. He is a soldier, a weapon, so any and all of his selfish desires are simply dismissed by his superiors, if not by himself.

This desire, however, can’t just be tossed away. Zeke is curious about so many different things—so many different things that all pertain to you. He wants to figure out everything that makes you tick, makes you break, what can he do to make you fall apart?

The easiest is obvious: bring up your fallen comrades. Zeke wiped _a lot_ of them out, but you seem most upset about the Commander and another man whose name honestly slips Zeke's mind because he doesn’t care about them. He cares about you, about how mentioning them lights a fire in your eyes. 

Another good method is to drone on to you about Reiner, how he’s just so confused these days (as if you don’t already know)—confused and sad, and _“I bet you could make him feel a little better if you’d just talk to him.”_ You never respond to the bait verbally, but Zeke can tell it bothers you to hear about the other man being in pain. He betrayed you, yet you still feel for him. The two of you must have been very close. Reiner did ask Zeke to spare your life, after all. 

The last method gets the largest reaction, but, while it’s the most gratifying, it’s also the riskiest. 

“Fuck! Get off of me—” Your words devolve into a scream that Zeke quickly muffles with his hand, not even flinching when you bite into the meat of his palm.

He has a knee wedged between your legs, follows you as you try to scramble further up on your sorry excuse for a cot. Your breaths are coming in the form of short gasps through your nose, and you begin to shake your head roughly. Zeke can feel your mouth forming words against his skin, cocks his head to the side and dares to move his hand in time to catch you whimper out a surprisingly pathetic, “Please, not again.”

It catches him off guard. You actually sound defeated. It almost makes him feel guilty.

That quickly flies out the little, barred window, however, when you rear back and headbutt him square in the face. He feels his nose crack, swears harshly as blood immediately begins streaming down into his beard, then roughly grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. You choke back a pained noise, glare up at him as you squirm and shove and hit all in an attempt to dislodge Zeke from his place above you. It’s no use, though. He’s bigger and stronger and dead set on reminding you of that, of just how helpless you are here.

He descends on you without hesitance or shame, growls when you tear into his bottom lip, barely shifts when you slam an elbow into his cheek, a knee to his ribs, it doesn’t matter. He can heal from all of it. The steam rising from him just adds to the heat between the two of you as he pushes the smock you’re wearing up over your chest. He pinches and scratches and laughs breathlessly at each different sound you make—none of pleasure but all so hypnotizing.

The constant thrashing gets old after a while, though. Zeke likes your boundless energy, but it gets in the way of his rhythm. He figures he’s doing you a bit of a favor when he slams your head against the metal frame, leaves you dazed enough to finally relax. Your muscles unclench, and your eyes roll in your head aimlessly as you try to form words, no doubt more protests. You’re too disoriented to do much more than move your jaw slightly and shift your hips beneath him. You choke quietly when he kisses you again, your mouth still tasting of iron from his own blood, and like that, Zeke takes everything he can from you. Everything.

◄

It takes more will-power than he'd like to admit for Zeke to actually get you to his bedroom rather than just fucking you on his living room couch.

But no. You deserve better than that. This time around, at least. Part of him wants to try to make up for everything, everything you don't remember. 

Another part of him wants to hear you scream and sob like you did before. 

You both bump into the walls of the narrow hallway on the way, knocking into a framed sci-fi poster Zeke is too preoccupied to care about at the present time. You break away from him as soon as you make it through the door, pull your top over your head while also toeing your shoes off with surprising coordination. Zeke takes in the soft form before him, skin that was once littered with scars and bruises almost foreign to him now and yet… exactly the same. He knows you already, every spot that you tried to hide from him before—the place behind your ear that gives you goosebumps, the junction of your neck and shoulder that makes you let out that breathy whine, the hollows if your hips that make you buck and grind against him—all of these little tricks you were so ashamed of when he discovered them in Marley, the guilt of being biologically aroused despite not wanting anything to do with him…

That's not the case now. Now, you're happily straddling him, gyrating and rubbing your wetness over Zeke's hard cock. He grips you tightly, knows your waist will be dotted with marks from his fingertips come morning, but you don't seem to care. You smile down at him, expression drunk off lust rather than liquor, and he has to wonder what did it for you tonight. Was it the way he smirked at you? The wink? The mysterious-stranger aura he was giving off? What convinced you that fucking him would be a good idea? 

He makes you ride his fingers first, mostly just to enjoy the show but also to make sure you're ready to take his length. You're so fucking beautiful, flushed and desperate, brow already high with euphoria, shimmering lips parted with needy pleas. 

Your walls are slick and soft around his fingers, already making lewd noises as you fuck yourself on them. When he thinks you've had enough (and when he's so hard it hurts), Zeke pulls his hand back, doesn't care about making you a mess as he uses the same fingers to tangle in your hair and pull you down for a rough kiss. You moan into his mouth, not so subtly resituating yourself so that you're hovering over his dick and teasing your dripping folds over his head. 

Brain swimming with desire, Zeke bites into your lower lip, delights in the whimper you release, then sucks on the offended flesh as he begins pushing down on your hips. His tip breaching that ring of muscle makes both of you groan. He's hot all over, feels like he's full of Titan steam again, but it's not that. Your skin is scalding on his, slippery as you press your chest against him and slowly take him all the way inside you. 

Zeke's teeth find your shoulder, digging in when you're fully seated in his lap. You throw your head back, roll your hips to get used to the sensation of him filling you to the brim, then loll forward and lock eyes with him. 

Again, his nerves buzz with the threat of you waking up and remembering, of something he does triggering the avalanche of memories. And oh, wouldn't this just be a way for you to ‘come to’. He can't imagine what you'd do, how furious you would be. 

That anxious feeling spreads when Zeke flips you, begins pumping into you from above and watches the way your face changes from surprise to pleasure to—

Your gaze clouds over for a moment, eyes suddenly fathomless as you stare up at him. Your lips move but no words fall from them, and Zeke can feel that you're thinking too hard, that there are gears turning inside your pretty head, and you're trying to piece something together. He can't have that, though, can't have you focused on anything other than him getting you off, so he pulls out, drags you to the edge of his bed, and begins thrusting into you at a pace that turns you into a leaking, writhing mess. 

Your eyes slam shut, a fuck-drunk grin spreading across your face as you moan his name, and fuck, it's like music to Zeke's ears because that you've never done before. It sounds so perfect, so right, everything he wanted in the last life and everything he wants now, and—

"Say it again," he grunts, reaching down to spread wetness from your hole to your clit then rubbing the bud with two deft fingers. 

You cry out and arch against him, a slurred, _“Ohmygod,_ Zeke,” tumbling from your drooling mouth. You look perfect like this, debauched and spoiled and _his_. You're fucking begging for him to give you everything he's got. You want him, and he has no problem giving himself to you. 

It's bestial at this point, base instincts taking over as the two of you rut and fuck and pant into each other's mouths. You're filthy, and Zeke loves it. He pins your hips to the mattress as he pounds into your greedy pussy then leaves you empty and crying when he pulls out only to drop to his knees and fuck you with his tongue. It isn't enough for you, he knows, but the way you hold yourself open for him and grind against his face has Zeke painfully aroused. He sucks on your clit, rubs his chin up over your folds and teases you with coarse hair until you're twitching from the stimulation. 

"Zeke, fuck, please," you mewl, tugging on his hair in an attempt to get him to stand back up. "Please, please fuck me—god dammit, I'm so close—I just need you to—"

You _need_ him. You need _him_. Zeke nearly comes on the spot. 

Instead, he slowly rises, looks over you and places sloppy kisses all over your neck and chest, toying with your nipples as he goes. "Fuck, you sound so good," he groans right into your ear. It makes you shiver and dig your nails into his back. "Keep begging me, just like that."

Another little whimper followed by a shameless request: _"Please_ fuck me, Zeke. Fuck, I want it so bad. _Please."_

He can't deny you any longer, drapes one of your legs over his shoulder and slides back into your heat. You're both lost after that, just tangled limbs and sweat soaked skin and absolutely obscene noises. Zeke knows exactly what to do to make you unravel around him, and when you do, it's incredible. You're wound like a top, muscles tight and rigid until you let go all at once, back arching, hands scrabbling for anything that will ground you, and Zeke just watches as you shatter. You pulse around him, your walls clinging to him and somehow sucking him in deeper as you coat him in juices, and it's that added slickness that has him teetering over the edge, that squelch and the way you force your lips against his and breathe Zeke's name into his own mouth. 

He pulls out just in time, jerks his cock until he's spilling onto your chest, milky and white and claiming. When he's finished, Zeke braces himself on his forearms, pants for a few moments, then reaches up to gather some of the cum dripping into your cleavage with two fingers. He feels stoned as he raises them to your lips in a dare, but you grab his hand and stare at him as you suck the digits into your mouth, tongue lapping at his seed and cleaning his skin of it. 

You really did that. You really—If you only knew. 

With a low swear, Zeke drops his hand to your chin, holds your face in place as he kisses you lazily. He could do this all night. He just might. He hasn't made up his mind, but it seems… 

The possibilities are endless. 

After calming down, the two of you rinse off in the shower, share a few more languid kisses under the spray, then collapse onto his bed and promptly fall asleep, something you apparently were not planning on doing because when you wander into Zeke’s kitchen the following morning, fully dressed and all kinds of embarrassed. You stammer out an apology—"I really hadn’t meant to just crash—”

Zeke, standing over the stove where he’s cooking eggs, turns the burner off and paces over to you. He’s trying not to give himself away, how utterly thrilled he is to have you here. He got most of it out of his system when he had woken up and turned to you, the events of the previous night flooding his system and leaving him in awe because you were really there, wrapped in his sheets, hair a mess, neck and chest sporting dark bruises from Zeke’s tongue and teeth. He couldn’t help but stare for a few solid minutes, extremely grateful for your deep sleep so you wouldn’t catch him.

Now that he’s in his right mind he’s able to flick hair out of his face (he really needs to get it trimmed) and place a hand on your hip as he tells you, “I didn’t mind. You’re pretty cute when you sleep anyway.”

Your face darkens with a blush, and you glance away and let out a self-conscious laugh. “Uh, thank you, I think.”

Zeke is in nothing but his boxers, and he can tell you’re trying to keep your eyes averted, but it isn’t working very well, and the more you glance at his shoulders, his chest, further down, the more your face heats until you’re giggling and scratching the back of your neck. “Last night was, uh… It was really fun.”

“It was,” he agrees in a low voice. “Should do it again sometime.”

After a very impromptu, very heated series of kisses that leaves you breathless and squirming on Zeke's kitchen counter, you leave that morning with swollen lips and Zeke's number programmed into your phone. He spends the rest of the day unable to rid himself of the smug smile on his face. 

And, that's all it takes. That's how it starts.

◆

The door to the small balcony opens, but Zeke doesn't turn around, just blows smoke out to the sky and readies himself for the chastisement he knows he's about to receive.

"You told me you quit," you comment, leaning over the railing and peering over at him. You don't sound angry or accusatory, just confused, maybe a little disappointed. 

"I did. Mostly," Zeke smirks then stubs out the rest of his cigarette. "I've just been stressed, I guess." 

You frown, turn to face him. The little pout of your lips is to die for. "What has you stressed?" 

Blinking down at you, Zeke tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, thoughts wild as his brain supplies him with every little thing that's making his life harder than it needs to be—the brewery, his co-workers, his parents, Eren, friends, his flashbacks, and of course, the return of the god damned Scouts. Out of all of them, it had to be Ackerman and the Commander. Naturally. 

"Just work, baby," he lies, tries to get rid of the mental image of Smith's hands on you as you came down from that stupid, childish sky-trail, the way you looked at him with clear adoration. You can't help yourself. And, it makes sense now. He knows you weren't just Commander and soldier in Paradis. There was more to it, more between you, and memories or not, that relationship is rearing its ugly head all over again. 

Zeke will do everything in his power to keep you close, though, and it isn't just because of that raw possessiveness he felt when he first met you five years ago. It's something entirely different. What started as nothing more than twisted satisfaction grew to something much, much more—fondness, affection, real feelings, and now, he loves you. Wholly and fully, Zeke loves you. He wasn't a good man in his last life and is far from perfect in this one, but he'll be damned if he lets you go back to Smith, will fight to keep you with all his might. 

He slings an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, and you let him, rest a hand and your cheek against his chest and sigh contentedly. 

"Don't work yourself too hard. I know you're trying to prove your worth to the guys at the brewery, but you know your shit. You deserve your place there, and I'm sure everyone can see that. So, try to relax." 

Zeke hums, places a kiss on the top of your head, then smirks into your hair. "I know something that might help with that."

You snort, nuzzle into his collarbone. "Fucking incorrigible."

"You're damn right I am." 

He whisks you back into the apartment, all but slamming the back door behind him, then attaches himself to you. 

No way he's letting this go. Smith will have to pry you from Zeke's cold, dead hands before he can have you again.


	10. i hear the sound of your voice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, i love this fic and my reader oc, but like... be loyal to your partners. emotional infidelity is still infidelity, jsyk. other than that, this is kinda long, soooo sorry? but enjoy some flashback smut.

◈

You can feel the frustration radiating from your fiance as you patter about the apartment, getting ready for a night out, gathering what you need along the way—little denim jacket, purse, shoes. Zeke is sitting in the dining room with his usual group of friends as he sets the scene for the evening’s session, but there’s something about his voice, his tone. The others probably don’t pick up on it, but you surely do, a certain shortness to his words, a little stunted like he isn’t paying attention entirely. You know he isn’t. Half of his focus is on you moving behind him, and you know it’s on the tip of his tongue, an incredulous, _“Seriously? You’re really gonna go to this fucking thing?”_ but Zeke keeps quiet. Besides, the argument has already passed, and you’re not changing your mind.

The last thing you grab is the hardback on your bedside table, one you picked out not long ago, Homer’s _The Odyssey_ in beautiful teal, cloth binding. It was the only thing you could think of for this occasion, the only thing _appropriate_ because _oh_ , you had some other not virtuous ideas for this celebration, some you had literally slapped yourself for. Honestly, your brain these days…

You wipe the scowl from your face as you step into the dining room, lean over and place a kiss on Zeke’s head because he doesn’t deserve the _full_ extent of the cold shoulder, even if he had been a grade ‘A’ dick last night. “I’ll be back,” you tell him, grin at the others around the table. 

All Zeke graces you with is a short, “Yeah,” as he rolls a couple dice around in his palm. “Be safe.”

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you pause, the people-pleaser in you screaming at you to make things better with him, but you have your friends just like he has his. It’s not like you ever ask him to stop spending time with them just because Pieck and Yelena make eyes at him all night, so he really has no right…

You suck in a breath, nod, then turn and leave, keys in one hand and the book in the other. You suppose Zeke has reason to be a little miffed. You did, after all, announce your going to Erwin’s little birthday get-together almost directly after discussing basic wedding plans, the first conversation you’ve had about it in weeks. Mentioning Erwin had been insensitive, and if the tables had been turned, you’re sure you would have been upset too.

Still, the group awaiting you at the unfamiliar bar downtown are your friends—some of them, anyway. Others are mere acquaintances you only briefly met at Hange’s surprise party, but you’re eager to see them again and make a better impression considering last time you had basically fainted. Your heart skips a beat when you think about the man who you’re pretty sure caused the unfortunate accident. You’ve given him a lot of thought actually, mostly just hoping to apologize for worrying him. Erwin had mentioned more than once how concerned his friend was after that night. 

It’s a Saturday, so the bar you end up at is pretty crowded. It takes a couple texts from Levi for you to find the group you’re looking for, and when you do, you’re met with many joyful smiles and a couple hugs. The guest of honor himself rises from his seat in the corner and is, as always, devastatingly handsome. You almost turn right back around and leave because it’s just too much. A button up covered by a dark green sweater, nice khakis that hug his thighs, brown chukka boots—he's so casual and classy, and his blond hair is pushed from his face, showing off those depthless, sapphire eyes. The grin on his face is enough to make your heart stop because you don't _understand_ how someone can be so attractive. 

That dizziness overtaking your mind and body only multiples when Erwin nears, holding out an arm in invitation, and your legs move on their own accord as they carry you to him, allowing yourself to be wrapped in a tight hug that leaves you with your face pressed against his shoulder. You inhale his scent—that sweet cologne and fabric softener and _him_ , and fuck, you just might faint again. 

"Happy birthday," you murmur against him, hands rubbing his back for a moment before you tear yourself away and step back. You're still dangerously close, _intimately_ close, and you can't help but think about that silly fun center and the way Erwin's hands felt on you. 

This is bad. This is so bad. 

"Thank you. Another year down," he says in a tone that's somewhere between thoughtful and amused. The glint in his eyes makes it hard to think straight, but you remember the book sticking halfway out of your purse and quickly grab it, hoping to redirect Erwin's attention to it. 

"Here. It isn't much, but I thought of you when I saw it." _Online. After I'd brainstormed for an hour._ You’re not going to let him know that little fact, though. He just needs to think it was a spur of the moment buy, like it’s no big deal. 

Erwin takes the book from you, smile somehow lighting up his face even more as he runs a hand over the cover. “Oh, wow,” he breathes, fingertips tracing the spine and embroidered waves like it’s something special. “This is beautiful.” Your pulse is racing, breath catching in your throat with every inhale because he’s acting as if it’s signed by Homer himself when in reality it’s just from a special line of _Penguin Publishing_ ; he should not be looking down at it with such adoration, and he definitely shouldn’t look up at you with the same expression. “I love it.”

You smile back at him, face heating as your brain supplies a very unhelpful, very out-of-the-blue _I love y—_ before you cut it off. 

You probably shouldn’t drink much tonight, maybe nothing at all to be safe. 

“I’m glad,” you manage, happy that no word vomit follows. 

Erwin uses the book to motion to the table, says he’s going to give it to Nanaba for safe keeping, and then, “We can go grab you a drink at the bar.”

“Oh, I…” He swivels back around to face you, quirks one blond eyebrow, possibly ready to question or challenge you, and the thought alone is enough to make you cave. Shrugging, you wave a hand. “Okay, one drink. I don’t wanna wake up with a headache tomorrow.”

“You should drink water then,” he says with a wink before making his way back to the group at the table.

It’s the first time you’ve paid them any attention since stepping into the building, but almost everyone is too busy in conversation to spare you more than a glance and friendly smile, though Nanaba does greet you very kindly when Erwin passes the gift to her. 

“You look much better than when I last saw you,” she tells you almost teasingly. 

You feel your face heat and rub the back of your neck, your own cold hand doing wonders on your flushed skin. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

The blonde’s expression softens, and she waves a hand. “No worries. I’m just glad to see you smiling.”

Her voice is soothing, not unlike that of a mother, and you have the sudden urge to hug her like an old friend, a long-lost sister. Something about Erwin’s friends (and Erwin himself) evoke all kinds of emotions within you, and all you can do is weather each and every feeling and stomp out any unwelcome impulses. You don’t want to come off as any more unstable than you likely already do. 

“Do me a favor and go save Mike from the flirty waitress at the bar,” Nanaba says as her gaze flicks to the counter at the center of the room. “He’s been stuck there for ten minutes, and I’m nearly positive he’s scared of being rude and leaving.”

Erwin looks in the same direction and you follow, snorting when you catch sight of the man in question standing a head taller than almost everyone around him, his shoulders tense under his t-shirt—obviously uncomfortable. 

“Will do,” Erwin chuckles, then gestures for you to walk in front of him. You don’t think anything of it until you feel fingers splay over the small of your back, and you know you should move away from his touch. You _know_ you should. It’s too familiar, too forward. You shouldn’t be letting another man get this close to you, shouldn’t let him settle right behind you at the bar with almost no space between your back and his chest.

But, you do. You don’t move away, don’t tell Erwin to step back because his presence is both calming and electrifying, leaves you feeling absolutely level while also dousing every one of your nerves in flames. It’s the conflict you’ve been battling since meeting him, and you don’t know how to make it stop. Even worse, you don’t know if you want it to.

He’s able to flag down the bartender that’s borderline harassing Mich— _Mike_. They call him Mike. You don’t even know how you came up with the strange name, but it isn’t especially important. Erwin orders a Moscow Mule then gestures to you and tells the young woman across from him, “Just add her to my tab.”

“Sure thing, love,” she nods with a wink before looking to you. Her smile is not nearly as genuine as you ask for a Washington Red Apple, an easy go-to.

As soon as the girl turns her back, you pivot to face Erwin and huff, “Excuse me, sir. It’s your birthday, so why exactly are you paying for your drinks?”

“I’m a big boy. I can buy my own alcohol,” he chuckles as he looks down at you. 

You pout, cross your arms over your chest. “At least let me buy you one tonight.”

Erwin tilts his head to the side, tries and fails to hide a smirk as he questions, “Trying to get me drunk tonight?”

You stutter, an undignified, “I—uh—n—” before taking a deep breath and willing the blush away from your face. “No, I’m just trying to be nice.”

“Mm, I appreciate your generosity,” he hums, and that blush is not going away any time soon as he adds, “It’s been a while since a woman has bought me a drink. People might get the wrong idea, you know.”

Sucking both your top and bottom lips into your mouth, you shut your eyes for a split second, tell yourself to calm down and clear your head of the fog invading your senses.

But, Erwin is flirting with you. _Blatantly_ flirting. Your stomach has turned over several times since you walked into the bar, and you’re not sure you can handle a whole night of this fluttery sensation. 

Thankfully, you’re temporarily saved when Mike makes his way over to you, flicking shaggy hair from his eyes then showing a soft smile. “You came,” he states, voice slightly deeper than Erwin’s, warm and fond. With just those two words, that awful déjà vu washes over you, the thought _I’ve heard that voice before so clear in your mind_. You’ve become used to brushing ideas like that off, though, burying them in the deepest crevices of your brain to be mulled over at a later date. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you grin up at him. “Besides, I needed to prove to you and Nanaba that I’m, you know, alive.” 

“Yeah, we were both pretty worried,” he says, takes a sip of his drink then asks, “Does that, uh—does that happen often?”

“Mike—“ Erwin tries only to get interrupted by the bartender sliding two drinks to him. 

You wave a hand. “It’s fine, but no. It doesn’t. First time for everything, right?”

The three of you weave through the crowd to get back to your table in the corner, and you are not at all surprised when Erwin gestures to the empty chair beside his, suck on the thin straw in your drink as you lower yourself.

“Is that a Washington Red Apple?” Levi sneers across from you. “Jesus, what are you? A sorority girl?”

You waste no time in flipping him off, lips still pursed around the straw.

“You’re one to talk,” Hange notes with a cackle. “What’s that fruity shit _you’re_ drinking?”

Levi squints at her. “It’s a hurricane, moron. Do you not see the umbrella?” He waves the tiny garnish around nebulously, making everyone at the table laugh. 

There aren’t as many people as there were at Hange’s party, just the usual Happy Hour group plus Mike and Nanaba. It’s nice, though. Everyone is in high spirits, teasing one another, cracking jokes and, much to your delight, telling a few embarrassing stories about Erwin—the time in high school he and Mike went cliff-diving and Erwin had _“screamed like a little girl on his way down.”_ His 21st birthday when he had apparently sung a terrible cover of _Friends in Low Places_ for karaoke and cleared a third of the bar patrons.

“My favorite story of all time is when he slipped on a literal banana peel at that restaurant,” Levi tells the table, laughing into his third drink of the night. “It was like a god damn cartoon. He—he just fell back, legs up. I almost pissed myself laughing so hard.”

Erwin clicks his tongue. “That wasn’t even my fault.”

“The hell it was. You should watch where you’re going, old man.”

“I did go down pretty hard, had a bump on the back of my head for days.”

“Exactly. You used to be _acutely_ aware of your surroundings at all times,” Levi muses. “What happened this ti—”

He’s cut off by Erwin coughing loud enough to make you jump in your chair, and Levi mumbles something under his breath, cheeks darkening in the dim light. 

Nanaba is quick to change the subject, and you finish off your watered-down drink, setting it on the table. Erwin apparently takes that as an invitation to get up and grab another round from the bar, placing a full rocks glass in front of you. You sigh, rub a hand down the front of your neck, then pick it up because you’re not just going to turn it down. That would be rude. 

You’re three sips in when it happens. Raucous laughter breaks out between Moblit, Hange, and Mike, and you look to all of them only for your vision to blur, colors warping, surroundings shifting, and like that, you fade.

~

Leaning back on the unforgiving couch, you listen to the chatter of your superior officers. What started as a meeting to plan the next expedition eventually dissolved into more casual conversation, spurred on by the appearance of a couple bottles of wine.

There’s a comfortable warmth in your face and belly, and you crack a smile when the two captains burst into laughter where they sit in wooden chairs. It isn’t often you get to do this—relax. There’s always something to worry about in the Scouting Legion, something to prepare for. 

But, it seems this particular evening you’ve all decided to take the night off. Even the Commander is loose-limbed and rosy-cheeked where he sits behind his desk. His softened gaze moves over each of his subordinates until it settles on you, one side of his mouth pulling up in what initially comes off as an expression of affection but quickly changes as his eyes darken a shade, tongue swiping over his lower lip. 

You know what that tongue can do, and the thought makes you squirm in your seat just enough for him to notice. You are suddenly very ready for the others to leave the office—ready to be alone with him. 

Your _involvement_ with the Commander hasn’t been going on for very long, but you’ve both done your best to make up for lost time. Everything feels urgent, subtle looks in corridors that end with you being pulled into empty rooms, pressed against closed doors, panting and writhing and—

Most nights are spent together in his private quarters, your limbs tangled, mouths permanently pressed together as he moves slowly and deeply inside you. 

You feel a subtle throb between your hips, throw one leg over the other and look away from him. Still, you can feel his stare and the suggestion and heat that accompanies it.

"I'm gonna have the worst headache tomorrow morning," squad leader Zoe whines before standing up and stretching. "Maybe sleep will fight it off."

"Yeah, I'm right there with you," Captain Levi agrees, also getting to his feet and making his way to the door. 

The two give lazy, tipsy goodnights much to your relief, and as soon as the heavy wooden door closes behind them, the Commander is pushing away from his desk, ordering you, "On my lap, now," and you've never been one to disobey him. 

Scrambling across the room, you all but throw yourself at him, straddling his muscled thighs and taking his face in your hands. He sits up straighter, sucks in a sharp breath, and kisses you like he's desperate for it. 

He breaks away just long enough to tell you, "I've wanted you all day," in an uncharacteristically rough voice that sends shivers down your spine. 

You smile against his lips. "Not unusual."

His left hand, formerly caressing your cheek moves down to your chin, pushing back gently so he can look you in the eye. "Are you getting smart with me?" 

You bite the inside of your cheek, heat pooling between your legs. "Of course not, sir."

He hums, gaze moving down to your slick lips as he speaks, "You'll do well to not disrespect your commander."

Brain fogging over, all you can do is nod dumbly. Fuck, you love it when he's in this mood—dominant, authoritative, controlling. You'll do anything he tells you to, anything to please him. It's not necessarily a new development for you. You've been vying for his attention since you joined the Scouts, always looking for ways to impress him (possibly even seduce him, but that's neither here nor there).

Now, though, you're actually able to act on your desires, the ones you've kept so close to your heart for years. You can finally run your hands over his broad chest, feel his teeth and tongue on your neck as he bites just below the collar of your shirt, grind against his obvious arousal and watch the way his cheeks get darker and darker with lust. 

He lets go of your face, trails his hand over your throat, fingers splaying to brush both of your breasts, then down further until he's able to slip under the threadbare material. You shut your eyes at the sensation of his calloused hands on your skin, arch against him and wriggle when he teases along your ribs. 

"Mm, you feel nice squirming on top of me like that."

"Will feel even better when you're inside me," you tell him without missing a beat. You're ready. You want him. 

Catching your lips in another deep kiss, he licks into your mouth, sucking on your tongue before releasing it and murmuring a deep, "Dirty girl."

Tearing yourself away, you stand before he can stop you, unzipping and kicking off your boots then making quick work of your pants and top, leaving you in nothing but the binding cloth all female soldiers wear. 

The Commander doesn't even bother getting undressed, simply pulls his impressive length out of his pants and strokes himself to full hardness. Your mouth waters at the sight. You've appreciated his size many times already, and yet it still manages to take your breath away. 

You move to straddle him again, but he shakes his head and stands, nods to his desk. "Lay back." 

Moving papers out of the way, you do as told, watching the man with wide, glossy eyes until he drops to his knees and shoulders your legs apart. 

"Oh, _fuck!"_

He licks right between your folds a few times, tasting you and groaning before using his hand to open you up further, exposing your entrance so he can shove his tongue deep inside. Your legs tremble on either side of his head, and you take in deep breaths as you clench around the welcome intrusion, swear again when he teases your clit with the pad of his finger. Not much time has passed since he lost his arm, but he was quick to learn how to please with only one. 

Slick is dripping out of you; you can feel it coating the crease of your ass and thighs, and if that isn't proof enough, the man between your legs lifts his face just enough for you to see the shine around his mouth and chin. 

"Please, please just—" you bend as he presses a thick finger inside of you, stroking your walls and watching the way every muscle in your body tenses. 

"Please what?" 

_"Ohh,_ fuck me. Please, please, I'm ready, I _swear_."

He's not convinced. He never is, not until he has at least two fingers inside you, making embarrassingly lewd noises as he thrusts them back and forth. Tonight is no different. He waits until you're covered in a sheen of sweat and on the brink of tears before finally straightening back up. You whimper as he pumps himself a few more times, stepping forward and lining his cock up only to tease you by rubbing his tip against you, adding to your wetness as he spreads pre-cum around your stretched hole. You bear down in an attempt to take him inside of you, but he simply moves back and chuckles. 

"Patience, darling."

You plead with him, a desperate, "I can't wait anymore," followed by the simple line that never fails to break him. "Please, Commander." 

Blue eyes shoot up to yours, eyelids growing heavy with want. He may be a modest man around others, but when it's just the two of you, he lets loose and shows a more honest side of himself, the side that gets off on his own authority. 

"Fuck, you're—" he slowly sinks into you, filling you to the brim and rocking his hips just enough for his head to press against your farthest wall. You whine at the sensation, but you want more. You always want more from him. "You're a desperate little thing tonight."

You nod to the best of your ability, turning your head to the side to feel the cool wood of the desk against your hot cheek. 

Your body moves with every thrust, slick sounds and moans filling the office as you take him inside you over and over again. Above you, the Commander pants, raises his hand to your mouth and presses two of his fingers inside. You coat them in spit, tongue moving lazily around and between the digits until he pulls them back. 

The cry you let out when he rubs over your clit is loud, causing the man to shush you and warn, "Do you want to wake up the entire squadron?" You barely hear him through the blood pounding in your ears. "What would the legion think if they found out I was fucking one of my subordinates, hm?" He punctuates the question with a particularly rough thrust that makes you bite your lip harshly to keep you from shouting again. "I think I'd probably lose some of their respect. We can't have that happening."

You're hardly listening to him, lost to the feeling of him stretching you open and the two fingers massaging your clit. How does he manage to make you fall apart so fast? How does he already know you so well? 

The ridge of his cock is brushing that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust, making you clench tightly around him and pull a deep groan from him. Heat travels from your toes to your core and settles between your hips, the pressure growing until it finally snaps. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you roll your hips in time with his, vaguely aware of the stream of both curses and praises that fall from his mouth. 

He pulls out only for a moment, grips your hip and forces you to turn over on the desk. Your orgasm has just barely finished pulsing through you, and the stimulation of the Commander's cock dragging along your walls again makes you hiss. He strokes the small of your back lightly before settling his palm on it to steady you as he resumes his original pace. Your jaw drops, body rocking on the now slick desk, and you raise to your tip-toes in hopes that it'll take some of the weight off your chest. 

A hand snakes under you, pulling you upward until your back is flush against his chest, the cotton of his shirt sticking to your damp skin. He wraps fingers around your neck, just barely pushing against your windpipe, and with his lips against your ear, he asks in a husky voice, "Who do you belong to?" 

You swallow thickly, gasp out a breathy, "You."

His pants are beginning to chafe your ass, adding an entirely new sensation as he fucks roughly into you. 

"And, who do I belong to?" 

This catches you off guard. You've gotten sentimental and vulnerable with one another a few times now, but this is different. This is during the throes of passion. It's intimate, and honest, and your voice breaks when you answer, "M-me." 

"That's right." His fingers move to your jaw to turn your head to the side, and he meets you halfway, pressing his lips to yours in a forceful kiss. 

He falters in his movement, thrusting a little recklessly until he's groaning into your mouth and spilling inside of you. He milks himself until he can't anymore, remains fully sheathed in your heat as he catches his breath, then brushes his lips over the back of your neck and murmurs the faintest, "I love you." 

It's devastating in a way you can't describe. Your heart somehow swells and breaks at the same time. On one hand, you're elated, thrilled that you've finally earned this man's affections, that he considers himself _yours_. 

But, deep in your gut, you know you're both running out of time. Everything is temporary, including love. One day, it'll all be over. 

Until then, though, you're more than happy to exchange sweet words, slowly clean up your messes, and eventually fall asleep in the bed you're becoming accustomed to, wrapped tightly in the Commander's arm.

◈

A light, tickling sensation on the back of your neck brings you back, and it takes you a couple seconds to realize it's Erwin's fingers brushing over your top vertebra. You shudder, look over to him and find his gaze fixed on his friends, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair as he smiles easily and shakes his head.

Your eyes feel too wide in your head as you take him in fully for the second time that night, gears turning in your head, counting similarities over and over until you finally accept the fact that… 

The Commander is Erwin. He has to be. They look exactly the same. They sound exactly the same. And, they elicit the same, warm feeling inside you. 

It doesn't make sense, though. You don't know why or _how_ your brain conjured up such a complex story—a whole different world you’ve been a part of for _years_ —with familiar characters that are currently sitting around you, you realize. Squad leader Zoe, Captain Zacharias, and Levi. Levi is always there, too. 

Your stomach rolls. You swallow down acid. Erwin's hand falls from you when you stand up, announce you're going to step outside then scamper off toward the exit. 

The autumn air is a little crisp, but it feels good, refreshing. There are a few people smoking on the patio, and you inhale the scent, trying to ground yourself and solidify something in your mind as concrete, undebatable. It smells good, smells like—like Zeke. Yes, Zeke. You want to be back home with him, curled up on the couch as he plays one of his video games or rants about work or _anything_. 

The churning in your stomach gets worse at the thought. It's just guilt—that you fought with him, that you went against his wishes, that you're spending time with another man he obviously sees as a threat—but also, the image of your fiance flashes through your mind, a cigarette hanging from his lips, thick rimmed glasses replaced by round, wire frames, usual t-shirt and flannel flashing to a beige uniform—

You raise a shaky hand to card fingers through your hair as the strange flickering vision melts away, and you're left staring at the dark parking lot. 

It's probably time you left, for everyone's sake. Your purse and phone are still inside, though, and you _did_ promise Erwin a drink. You can still buy him one, drop it off then say your goodbyes. 

"You alright?" 

You turn quickly to find Mike standing a few feet away from you, hands tucked in his pockets, green eyes unblinking and focused. 

"I—" you laugh quietly. "Yeah, just… needed some air."

He nods slowly, pushes his lips out in a thoughtful pout, then paces over to stand next to you. 

"I could use some, too."

His presence sets you on edge for a moment, but when he doesn't speak again, you relax into a comfortable silence. It's familiar, just like everything else, and you lean forward over the iron fence, staring at nothing. 

"You ever get, like, intense déjà vu ?" You ask before you can stop yourself. "Like, _wildly_ intense?"

Mike chuckles, mouth curling in a small smile. "Yeah, pretty often, actually."

It can’t be the same as yours, but the solidarity is still comforting. You wish you could explain it. To anyone. But you were taught from a young age to not talk about it, keep it to yourself. Your dreams aren't natural, only getting stranger as the days pass. Not even Zeke knows the full extent of them, and you've only just started breaching the subject with Dr. Pixis. Honestly, you're bracing yourself for the day you divulge too much and get yourself committed. 

An elbow lightly nudges your arm, getting your attention. When you glance at Mike, his look of understanding is painful, cuts you to the core, just like his reassuring and strangely perceptive, "It'll be alright." Like he _knows_.

You remember the last time you saw him—not at Hange's party, though. The last time you saw him in your imaginary world. Bloody and trembling and _dying_. The way his wet hand held onto yours like you had the power to save him. 

Fuck, why are you like this? What is _wrong_ with you? 

You suck on your lip to stop it from trembling, blink away the heat forming in your eyes. 

"Yeah." It comes out too thick. "Thanks." 

It's hard to tell how long you both just stand there, listening to the chatter around you but not saying anything to one another. It's nice, brings you back down to a reasonable head space, and when Mike suggests going back inside, you agree and follow him, laughing when he complains quietly, "Smoke always bothers my nose."

Of course it does, you muse for no real reason.

It seems the party has not stopped since you left. There are fresh drinks on the table, and almost everyone is tinged pink and giddy. 

"Everything okay?" Erwin asks when you drop into your seat. 

You nod, scared to look at him in fear of flashing back to that—that— _wet dream_ , for lack of a better term. Jesus, what had that even been about? If you hadn't been so startled by it, you would probably be _aroused_ right now. That cannot happen. Under no circumstances…

"Would you like another drink?" Is his next question, and he looks surprised when you tell him _'no'_ a little too firmly. 

"I just—you know, I don't wanna get fucked up, and I'm already a little buzzed," you lie. "I promise, you do not want to see me _actually_ drunk."

"Oh, but I think I do," Erwin says slyly, and you give him your full attention—a mistake, as he shows a crooked grin that makes your heart pound frantically in your chest. 

You force your own smile, embarrassed by the flush of your cheeks, then manage out, "Another time, maybe. I'm not about to ruin your birthday by getting sloppy."

And, boy can you get sloppy. It's been a while since you really let loose, probably around the time you met Zeke. You've reeled yourself in since then, thank goodness. 

Erwin's eyes are darker than usual and a little clouded from the alcohol. The way he's looking at you makes you squirm, and every single line from your episode runs through your mind.

_On my lap, now._

_I've wanted you all day._

_Dirty girl._

Goosebumps rising all over your skin, you choke back incredulous laughter, shake your head. Erwin is definitely a little drunk which is fine; it's his birthday after all, but it does not bode well for you. 

You indulge him for another hour, allowing yourself to relax again but switching to water to both rehydrate and keep yourself from flirting. Nanaba and Levi also slow down on drinking, the latter claiming, "I don't wanna have to pay for four fuckin' Ubers tonight."

Hange socks him in the arm, earning a gunmetal glare. "Don't lie, Levi. We all know you don't want to keep drinking 'cause you can't handle your liquor like you could in college."

"I'd hardly call what I did in college _handling_ my liquor. That was a fuckin' nightmare."

They fall into old stories once again, more reminiscing, and you're happy to listen, chewing on the ice in your cup and laughing with the group. Your worries are pushed aside, forgotten for the time being, but they resurface with a cruel vengeance when you finally leave and Erwin walks you to your car like always. 

"Thanks for coming tonight," he speaks, strides slower than usual, though you're not sure if it's to accommodate your shorter legs or if he's just lazy with intoxication. He isn't stumbling or slurring, but the angry red of his ears and glassy look over his blue eyes give him away. 

"Of course. Thanks for inviting me. I'm…" you pause, think about what you want to say, how to say it. "I'm glad to have friends here. I was worried before the move."

"Why's that?" 

You shrug as you arrive at your car. It's a scene you've both played out many times now, but it never ceases to leave an ache deep inside you. You wish—

No, you don't. You don't wish for anything except for these intrusive thoughts to go away. 

But, Erwin is standing in front of you, golden hair slightly mussed, hands clasped behind his back in his oddly formal stance, and there's no way to get rid of them. 

_… desperate little thing…_

_Who do you belong to?_

_**I love you.** _

You clear your throat, answer, "Story for another day," then unlock your car. 

Erwin stops you as you move to open the door, lightly gripping your arm so you face him again. He's frowning, thick brows creased, lips downturned and barely parted. He looks hurt. 

"You can open up to me, you know," he states. 

Your mouth moves before your brain can catch up. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Erwin's frown deepens, but he drops his hand from you. You expect him to ask why, why you can't trust him and what's stopping you, but he doesn't, just presses his mouth into a thin line and nods, and fuck, he looks so disappointed. You want to make it better, take back any pain you've caused because it was an accident. You weren't thinking, you just can’t have him—

"Do you have feelings for me, Erwin?" You ask point blank. You doubt having it confirmed will make this any easier, but you still hold out some hope that hearing it from his mouth will somehow wake you up and remind you to _step back_ from the situation. 

Erwin doesn't hesitate. "Yes." 

It knocks the wind out of you. You actually fall back to lean against your car, praying your knees won't buckle underneath you. 

"I—why?" 

He breathes in, face softening. "You need a list?" 

"No, just—'" The teeth of your keys are digging into your palm, but the discomfort does well to keep you steady. "I'm engaged."

"I'm well aware of that, actually."

You roll your eyes. "Then why are you…" You don't know what you're asking, just gesture vaguely at him as if he'll understand. 

Erwin chuckles. "I don't know what _that_ —" he mimics you, "—means, but… I haven't exactly seen you thwarting my advances."

The statement leaves you stunned. You're both offended by him and disgusted with yourself because he's _right_. There have been several instances where you could have called him out and put a stop to this dangerous game, but you never have. This is the first time you've addressed it, and Erwin looks more entertained than anything, definitely not sheepish or scared. 

"But—"

In a flash, Erwin is in your space, body pressed close as he peers down at you. Caged between him and the car, you're frozen still, can't lean away or push him back or _breathe_. Your ribcage feels like it's full of birds, stomach somersaulting as he takes your face in both his hands, tilts your head up, and…

"Please, don't," you whisper, lips so close to Erwin's, you can practically taste the bourbon on them. "Don't do this."

He goes rigid, shoulders tensing, fingers tightening around the back of your head for just a moment before he exhales and shifts so that he’s not on top of you. 

Your eyes are burning just like your face, hot with shame. It isn't until he wipes a couple tears from your cheeks that you realize you're crying. You feel weak, in every sense of the word, limbs like jelly, heart stuttering pathetically, mind in shambles. Letting your head loll backward and out of Erwin's grasp, you sniff and stare up at the black sky, too aware of the man still standing in front of you. You're afraid to look at him, to see the defeated expression he's wearing. You can't handle it right now. You can't. 

"That was out of line," he says, voice tight—restrained. "I'm sorry."

“Yeah.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I am too.”

Erwin lets out a long sigh, and in your peripheral vision, you see him rub a hand down his face. “I should get back.”

“Probably.” Straightening back up, you finally meet his gaze, a storm brewing in those cerulean eyes. “I’ll see you around.”

Stepping away, Erwin gives you room to slip into your car, shoves his hands in his pockets and watches as you turn your key in the ignition. You know he’s hurting—you are too—but you don’t know how you can possibly make it better. 

A hand braced on the handle, you glance up at him and offer a sad smile. “Maybe in another life, Erwin.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, lips slowly curling into a boyish smile before you shut the door. As you drive away, you look into the rearview mirror, able to make out the figure heading back to the bar, shoulders shaking in what looks like laughter.

The ride back home is silent save for your occasional sniffle, and when you arrive, you are both relieved and disappointed to find that Zeke is still awake in the den. He has his gaming headset on, but one look at you has him frowning and slipping it off.

“Are you crying?”

You shake your head, and Zeke scoffs as he stands. “Okay, were you crying _before?_ ”

“Maybe.”

Setting your purse down, you prepare yourself for a round of questions you don’t much want to answer. 

“Thought it was just a birthday party. What could have possibly—”

“I really don’t wanna talk about it, Zeke.”

He pouts, squints behind his glasses.”Fine.” When he strides over to you, you let him pull you into a hug, resting your head against him as the weight of his arms settles around you. “Want me to make you some tea?” He asks, voice muffled against your hair but still a sharp with irritation. 

You nuzzle against his sternum as you shake your head. “No. I just wanna go to sleep, honestly.”

“Then, come on.”

Zeke turns off his game and walks to the bedroom with you, watching as you go about your nightly routine until you crawl under the duvet with him.

It’s nice. It’s what you know. This is where you _belong_. 

Zeke is scrolling on his phone with one hand, the other lightly playing with your hair, and you’re just beginning to doze off when he speaks. “You know, you might want to consider putting some distance between you and your new friends. They shouldn’t upset you to the point of tears, babe.”

You grunt against his neck, not bothering to respond any further because it isn’t the _whole_ group that’s in the wrong. It’s just Erwin. And, you. This is as much your fault as it is his, but you can’t tell Zeke that.

Still, you know distancing yourself is the proper course of action. It’ll be hard considering how much you enjoy spending time and talking with Erwin, but the dire need to protect your relationship far outweighs your own selfish desires.


	11. i hear it echo inside my dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TW: mentions of rape**. I don't know how I feel about this chapter, but it's an important one sooo. Also, 47° is cold to me okie, I'm basically basing this in Texas without actually explicitly saying so which means anything under 65° is cold lol

◈

“You seem stressed today.” Dr. Pixis states, tilting his head to the side as he looks at you. 

Your mouth pulls up at the corners, and you ask almost bitterly, “You mean more so than usual?” He nods but doesn’t push you further, knows you’ll open up about what’s bothering you just like you have been for the past month. 

Talking to Pixis is easy. Even if you still skirt around certain subjects. You know that he’s aware you’re holding something back, but he remains warm, friendly, unbiased. It’s refreshing. 

“Kid in my class came to school in short sleeves and no jacket,” you mumble before pushing a sigh out through your pouted lips.

“It was forty-seven degrees outside,” he notes. 

You nod, eyebrows high and mouth in a thin line. “Exactly.”

“Well, your kids are young. May have just forgotten.”

“May have,” you shrug, leaning back against the cushions of the couch. “I doubt it, though. Since this year started he's… he’s struggled in a few ways. And, it seems like it’s only getting worse the further into it we get.”

“You’re worried about him.” Pixis is good at stating the obvious, but it doesn’t annoy you. Usually. 

“He’s just a kid,” you tell him. “Kids need to be looked after, and I don’t think that’s happening at home.”

“Do you think it goes deeper than a forgotten jacket?" 

Again, you shrug. It’s hard to say, and you don’t want to _accuse_ anyone of anything, but you’ve been concerned about Reiner since day one, and that concern is only growing. It doesn’t help that neither of his parents showed up for parent-teacher conferences earlier in the week. There wasn’t much to be discussed; Reiner is all around a good kid. He gets over-excited at times, emotional in others, but he isn’t a huge distraction in the classroom, and he’s _nice_ to other students. Still, you would have liked to have met his guardians, just to get a feel for them. 

"I don’t know,” you sigh. “But I really, really hope that isn’t the case.”

You just want what’s best for him, just want him to be okay, after everything—

~

You don’t have the energy to stiffen even slightly when you hear the cell door open, just sniff and let out a sob-like breath as you swear to yourself, _he’s back already, how the fuck can he be back already?_

You brace yourself for the worst, more slaps and scratches, his bruising grip on your flesh, handling you in whatever way he pleases. You don’t want to let him. You want to _fight_. But, you feel so weak, so tired and sore from the last assault. There are superficial burns all over your body from Zeke’s steam— _you wouldn’t get hurt if you’d just stop struggling so much_ —and you can feel a dull throb in your jaw from the way he held it open, fingers curled in your mouth as your incisors dug into his knuckles, using them as leverage as he moved in and out of you so painfully.

Your stomach churns at the echo of footsteps, boots, and you curl into yourself, a plea on the tip of your tongue. You’ve gotten used to that—begging. Never thought you’d fall to such pathetic levels, but you can’t help it. You need it to stop, need _him_ to stop. You don’t know how much longer you can take it. 

He halts at the side of your bed, but you can feel his presence there, just standing, staring, probably analyzing. What else can he do to break you? 

The motion is swift, arms snaking under your trembling frame to lift you off the cot. You nearly scream, but your throat is raw, and the impulse is weak anyway, just like the rest of you. You simply do not have it in you anymore. The fight. The fire. The resistance. It’s gone. He took it from you. 

So, you let yourself be hoisted up, cradled in strong arms and held against a broad chest, your head lolling to rest against his shoulder until you realize… This isn’t who you thought it was. 

_“Reiner,”_ you whisper. 

He doesn’t say anything, just squeezes you gently and walks from the cell. You don’t know where you’re going, where he’s taking you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care much. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him, even longer since you’ve actually spoken. He’s the enemy, after all. What could you possibly have to say to him? 

He used to spend every night outside of your cell, begging and crying for you, _“Please, forgive me, please,”_ but you never uttered a single word, nothing of forgiveness nor of damnation. 

You can still feel unaddressed rage simmering in your veins, have so much you could spit at the young man, so many questions you’ve been holding back, but even deeper than that fury is pain. He hurt you by betraying the Scouts, and worse, he hurt _himself_ as well. It has not slipped your notice that Reiner has become unstable since returning to his homeland. He was showing signs back in Paradis, signs that didn’t make sense at the time, signs you ignored. You wonder what would have happened if you had figured it out. What could you have changed? Who would still be alive? 

The corridors of the Marleyan military base are silent save for the sound of Reiner’s boots. It must be later than you had thought, not that time has any real meaning here. You try to pay attention to where you’re headed, take note of how many doors you pass before Reiner turns, how many steps he takes, but the rhythm of his gait paired with how warm he is has you relaxing more than you should. You grip the front of his uniform shirt, turn your face into his shoulder, and relax for the first time in fuck knows how long. It’s stupid, wishful thinking, but… You feel safe like this. 

Another turn, a flight of stairs, and down a narrow hallway—Reiner uses the hand behind your knees to unlock the door then pushes inside. The room is reminiscent of the officers’ private quarters you had gotten used to on the island, a little smaller, but it still makes your heart seize. Reiner sets you on your feet then motions to another door, mutters a quiet, “Bathroom through there,” and steps away toward a dresser where he procures a couple articles of his own clothing. 

You watch him, unblinking—un _focused_ —trying to ignore the way your entire body aches in so many different ways while also doing your best to make sense of the situation. You’re nearly positive Reiner is helping you, but you aren’t quite sure why. You’re nothing more than a prisoner here, a captive only good for a couple things. It must be the guilt he’s harboring, but how far will that get you? And, how long will it last?

“Here.”

He holds the folded garments out to you, and you take them with shaky hands before slipping into the small room he gestured to. There aren’t any windows or other doors, no means of escaping, but even if there were, you don’t know where you would go. You’re not in Paradis anymore. You don’t know this land or its people, and considering your current state, you doubt you’d make it very long on the outside before either getting picked up by authorities or dying. 

You think about this and more as you fiddle with the tub faucet, letting water run over your hand and sighing at the heat. You don’t know how long it’s been since you last had a hot bath. Not since Er—

Tears prick your eyes as you lower yourself into it, burns, cuts, and muscles screaming at the sensation, but it’s also _good_ , and once the initial shock wears off, you’re able to sink further down and unwind. You take your time washing, rubbing away several days worth of grime and blood. Your scalp is sore by the time you’re finished massaging soap into your hair, dunking your head back to rinse it all out. 

Losing track of how long you spend bathing, the water eventually becomes too cool to sit in any longer. You feel better than you have since arriving in Marley—still exhausted, but at least now you’re exhausted and _clean_. 

The clothes Reiner had given you are too large, but that isn’t a surprise. The shirt hangs off your undernourished frame loosely, and you have to roll the pants up and cinch the drawstring tight around your waist to prevent them from falling off. When you step back into Reiner’s quarters (or you assume them to be), you find him sitting on the floor against the wall, head back against the stone, legs bent at the knee. He shows a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, then tells you, “It isn’t much, but make yourself comfortable.”

He looks so tired, so different than how he was before…

“Does anyone else know?” You ask, and fuck, when did your voice get so quiet?

“Know what?”

“That I’m not in the cell. Did, uh… What’s his name…” You think for a second before recalling, “Magath. Did Magath give you the all clear?”

Reiner frowns and shakes his head. “No. No one did. I would—…” He pauses, chews on his bottom lip before hanging his head forward. “If I had some other place for you to go, I’d get you out of here but… I don’t. Someone will figure it out in the morning—Magath or Zeke—” you shiver, and Reiner blinks sad, amber eyes up at you, “—but I’ll deal with that when I have to.”

Nodding, you slowly slide down the wall behind you, sitting directly across from Reiner and pulling your knees up to your chest. It’s silent between the two of you, the moment stretching on far too long until you finally ask, “Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why…” The chuckle you let out takes you by surprise as you realize you don’t know what you want to ask. Originally, it was _‘why are you helping me’_ , but there are so many other questions. Why are you doing this? Why are you a soldier here? Why don’t you have more connections? Why are you letting that monster hurt me? Why did you betray the Scouts? Why did you betray _me_? 

And then, you settle with, “Why did you bring me back?”

Reiner stares at you, his mouth just barely hanging open. He swallows. His hands twitch on his knees. He blinks too many times. 

“I just didn’t want you to die,” he states, voice just above a whisper. “You helped me so m—”

“Maybe I wanted to,“ you cut him off, and Reiner tenses. “I was _ready_ to die that day. I knew… I knew what would happen when I went with Erwin and the others. I _knew_ we’d be wiped out.” Throat tightening, you look up to the ceiling in an attempt to keep the hot tears forming in your eyes from falling. “I was ready.”

“I—” A heavy sigh brings your attention back to Reiner. He’s holding his head in his hands, fingers digging through messy blond hair. “I get that now. I—… I’m sorry I didn’t then.”

You watch him, not sure what to do. You want to scream and throw things because who the fuck does he think he is? What does he mean he didn’t want you to die? He’s a fucking _traitor_.

But another, more instinctual part of you wants to comfort him. Reiner had been like a big brother to the 104th cadet corps, but being that you had a few years on him, he ended up admiring you the same way the younger kids admired him. It was cute, really, something Gelgar and Thomas gave you shit for, but you’d take all of it if it meant Reiner, who everyone seemed to confide in, had someone to confide in as well. He was a good kid, asked for advice and training help, would sometimes seek you out in the barracks just to share a funny story or dirty joke that would earn him a slap to the side of his head. He grew on you, relied on you, and you thought you could rely on him. 

“Sorry doesn’t do much, Reiner. Not now. Not here.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t apologize,” you shoot at him.

“But—” he scrubs a hand down his face and nods. “Okay.”

The night passes slowly, periods of tense silence, furious whispers, and stifled sobs. At one point, Reiner says he misses his old friends, and you lunge at him, hand connecting with his face in a hard slap that he takes without complaint. You hit him in the chest, call him every name you can think of, and he lets you, leaving himself open to the attack until you tire yourself out and fall forward against him. 

You cry harder than you think you ever have, heart breaking more and more with every beat, and Reiner holds you tightly as you mourn the loss of your friends, your lover, _yourself_. 

Sun begins shining dimly through the window of his room. You’re lying alone in his bed, Reiner still on the ground but leaning against the frame within touching distance, and with heavy eyes and a pounding headache, you ask him, “Is there any way to make Zeke stop?”

“Hm?” Reiner turns his face to look at you, his own eyes puffy and bloodshot. “Stop what?”

You blink a couple times, surprised because surely he knows. He had to have seen the signs all over your body—bruises, bitemarks, and bandages. Then again, the holding cells aren’t very bright, and you haven’t exactly let Reiner get close to you whenever he comes to visit. Even if you did, the near hysterics he’s sometimes in would probably keep him from actually understanding the true damage.

Would him knowing make a difference, though? Would he actually be able to do something to stop the assaults, or would it just be one more burden for him to carry?

“Stop what?” He repeats, and the words are there on the tip of your tongue, ready to fall and crush him, but before they can, the door opens.

As if being fucking _summoned_ by the mere mention of his name, Zeke steps into the room, eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he sneers, “Knew it,” in a condescending tone. You shrink under the sheets, heart rate picking up— _shit shit shit he’s here_ —sniff as you hear the sound of his footsteps nearing, sly voice, “She’s not your friend, Reiner. She’s a prisoner,” and—

“What’ve you been doing to her?”

You stop breathing entirely, itchy eyes widening, boring holes into the back of Reiner’s head before slowly sliding up to meet Zeke’s own impassive gaze that’s already locked on you. “Sharing stories, are we?” 

“I—No.” What would he do if you told anyone? Is that something he would be shamed for, or would he get a slap on the back instead? Either way, it would only make things worse for you. 

Zeke reaches for you but has to step back when Reiner suddenly stands up, forming a rather large barrier between you and his comrade. 

The older male rolls his eyes as he reaches up to scratch his ear. He sounds utterly unimpressed when he asks, “Are you challenging me again?”

“Answer my question.”

“We can’t just transform right here. We’d destroy the base.”

“ _Zeke_.”

He squints at Reiner then sighs, “Last I checked, _I_ was the one in charge. I don’t have to answer to y—”

You let out a squeak when Reiner’s knuckles slam into Zeke’s jaw, causing him to stumble backward until he catches himself on a wall.

“Fuck!” He spits blood on the floor then wipes his mouth, growling out a muffled, “You crazy asshole, what the hell is—" 

◈

“—wrong with you today?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you shudder, a short breath getting pushed from your chest as you reorient yourself with your surroundings. Dim lighting. Soft chatter. Clinking of glassware. Tablecloth.

You’re at a restaurant. Dinner with Zeke’s family. But how in the fuck…

“You’ve been out of it all day, babe. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You glance over to find Zeke staring at you, eyebrows pinched together in concern, but the image of him swims and flickers because he—he’s…

Your stomach rolls, still able to see it all so clearly—the base, the soldiers, the man who… Why does he look so much like Zeke? Why was he such a _monster?_

All too aware of the large hand on your knee, you nod and swallow the burning feeling in your throat. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

Your fiance chuckles through his nose, and you look across the table to show a sorry expression to Grisha and Carla who are both smiling thoughtfully. “School year wearing you down, dear?” 

“Yeah, it’s like I don’t realize how tired I am ‘til I’m outside the classroom, you know?” 

Grisha hums and agrees as Carla tends to the two little boys sitting in booster chairs beside her, cutting up more of their chicken strips and telling Eren to, “be a good boy like Armin and eat your veggies.” You wonder how much of the conversation you missed, how much of the _day_ you missed—good God, the last thing you remember clearly is sitting in Pixis’ office. That means you had to have left and drove all the way home…

“Hey, look at me,” Zeke utters, and you brace yourself as you turn to meet his gaze, skin prickling when you lock eyes. 

He’s still Zeke— _your_ Zeke, not that stranger from your daydream. You have no reason to be afraid even if the resemblance is uncanny, but the pit in your stomach just keeps growing and growing, and the weight of his hand on your leg is anything but welcome, and you need to get away from him. You just need to _get away_.

“You sure you’re okay today?” This must not be the first time he’s asked. 

“Just a little drained,” you tell him, following up with a lame, “Plus, my stomach is kinda hurting.”

Zeke frowns when you push away from the table, his hand dropping from you as you stand up. Making your way to the bathroom, it feels like you can breathe again, each inhale coming easier the further away you get from the table. Two of the stalls are already occupied, but you slip into the last one and pull out your phone, immediately unlocking it and scrolling frantically in an attempt to piece together parts of your day. 

It doesn’t work. All you find are three unread texts and several notifications from Facebook that you have no interest in. One message is from your mother asking about Thanksgiving plans, but the other two are from Levi.

**LEVI, 4:43PM**  
_Planning on gracing us with your presence tomorrow?  
We’re doing Smoking Guns after school_

**LEVI, 7:17PM**  
_I’ll take that as a no, but just so ya know, we miss  
having you around_

It’s the last message of a mostly one-sided conversation that’s been going on for almost a month, now—Levi inviting you out only for you to give him some half-assed excuse about why you can’t join him (that is, if you decide to reply at all). You’ve been doing well with putting distance between yourself and that group of friends, only seeing them on campus when you pass in the halls or run into each other in the lounge.

You haven’t seen or spoken to Erwin since his birthday party which is for the best, nevermind the perpetual ache in your chest. You can’t be around him. You can’t.

But, _God_ , you miss him. 

It’s ridiculous. You could barely consider him a friend, but you feel so…

You shouldn’t be thinking of him right now, not when you’re still trying to calm down from your episode. You should not find comfort in his bright smile or deep blue eyes—fuck, you shouldn’t even have such a detailed mental image of him, but you _do_. It’s there, ingrained so deeply in your memory, there’s no way you can ever get rid of it. 

Backing out of Levi’s texts, you return to the thread with your mother and begin to type a response only to stop when you see the bottom of the last picture you sent her. You scroll up the rest of the way and snort at the image of Reiner and Bertholdt holding out their terrible Mayflower replicas, crafted out of popsicle sticks and looking nothing like an actual boat. Bertl looks like he recognizes the _differences_ , expression all wide-eyed and self-conscious, but Reiner is grinning widely, showing all the gaps in his mouth from missing teeth as he presents his project like it’s a gift. 

_Look at these two goobers_ , you had typed a few days ago, getting a string of laughing emojis in response. They’re so goofy, always able to bring a smile to your face just like now. They’re just good kids. Reiner struggles, but…

Reiner.

_It isn’t much, but make yourself comfortable._

You shake your head. No way. There’s no way. There’s—

You don’t have time to think about it right now. Sooner rather than later Carla is going to come into the restroom looking for you to make sure you’re okay. You need to compose yourself, go back out there, act like everything is fine.

But, it isn’t. You’re losing track of time, having dreams about people you shouldn’t be dreaming of—the handsome commander, and an evil Zeke, and the sad soldier who looks too much like a grown up Reiner. It isn’t appropriate, but more importantly, it isn’t _real_. You just have to keep reminding yourself of that.

_It isn’t real, it isn’t real, they’re not real._

You step out and wash your hands before returning to the dining room, weaving between chattering tables until you get back to yours. When you plop down into your seat, you force a smile, nod when Grisha asks if everything is okay.

“All better?” Zeke double checks, voice right in your ear as his hand finds your knee again and squeezes.

“Yeah,” you lie. “All better.”


	12. turning into memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the feedback i've gotten on this story is incredible, and i want to thank you all for sticking with it an encouraging me even through the long breaks. i've promised myself that i will finish this story. it's my baby. a lot of times i just don't have the motivation to write in it because i'm too fixated on other fandoms (though i'm hoping season four will motivate me more). i just refuse to give y'all half-assed chapters. i'd rather wait and give readers something decent. anyway, hopefully this makes up for the wait.

◇

The two young women in front of Erwin thank him profusely once he finishes explaining their upcoming assignment, the blonde clasping her hands together and sighing in relief as Nifa smiles across the desk at him.

Erwin had been ready to leave campus for the day, bag packed and full of essays to grade, when the girls had knocked on his office door asking for clarity on their Classics paper. At first, he had been irritated, but once he read over the rubric he had handed out earlier that day, it became clear that he had been, well, _unclear_ in his stipulations. A mass email would need to be sent out to the rest of the class going over what he just told these two, lest he get bombarded with more questions. 

It feels as if recently Erwin's head hasn't been screwed on straight. He's been distracted—nostalgic and full of daydreams, and there's no question as to why. Still, the overall fogginess is troubling, especially since his work is beginning to suffer for it. 

"Thanks again, Professor Smith!"

"It was no problem. Thank you for bringing the issue to my attention," he nods. "I'll see you two on Monday."

"Yeah, see you then, Comma—" Nifa stops short, clears her throat and blushes before correcting herself— "Professor." 

Erwin grins, waits a second for the blonde student to have her back turned, then winks at Nifa. She snickers to herself then turns on her heel and follows her friend out of the office, leaving Erwin to gather the last of his belongings and lock up.

It’s just after four PM, but the sky’s orange glow already hints at the approaching sunset. Paired with the slight chill in the air, Erwin knows that Winter is just around the corner. There’s only one more week until the college’s short Thanksgiving break, and he’s very much looking forward to it—to relaxing, spending time with friends, grading assignments at his leisure, and… Pining in private.

Sighing, he shakes his head at himself as he unlocks his car. He places his leather bag in the passenger seat before sliding in himself, tries to distract himself from the ache in his chest by going over everything he needs to pick up at the grocery store on the way home. There’s a list on his phone, but making a checklist in his head helps keep him calm and level.

The crowded parking lot makes Erwin cringe, and he braces himself as he walks through the double doors, grabbing a plastic basket on the way. In and out. Just a quick trip. He’s ready to get back home, make dinner, and put his feet up. Maybe he’ll even call it an early night and be in bed by nine. It’s a tempting idea.

And then it’s gone. Pretty much every one of Erwin’s thoughts completely disappear when he rounds the corner onto the coffee aisle and sees you. You’re standing right next to the shelves, head tilted upward, glaring at something at the very top but making no move to reach for it. You look extremely put out and extremely adorable, and Erwin’s heart pounds as he walks over.

There’s a quiet voice in the back of his head that reminds him of how your last encounter went, how he had come onto you, trapped you against your own car. How he had been so close— _so fucking close_ to tasting you again. And how you turned him down. You haven’t spoken to him since which is understandable. What he did was wrong. What he’s _doing_ is wrong.

But that doesn’t stop him.

“Need some help?”

You startle at the sound of his voice, turn to look at him as the angry expression turns to shock then something else he can’t quite name. A couple seconds pass where you don’t answer him. Erwin can basically see the war taking place in your brain, waits patiently for one side to win, then grins when you shrug and point to the white bottle of creamer on the top shelf. He easily grabs it and hands it to you, beams at the quiet, “Thanks,” you utter.

“Any time.”

He stares at you for too long. You blink up at him, swallow loud enough for him to hear, then start to speak—“How’ve you be—” at the same time he says, “Well, I’ll let you—”

Both of you stop abruptly and laugh. Erwin’s stomach is flipping wildly, palms beginning to sweat. He was on the verge of losing hope, of tucking his tail between his legs and leaving you be, but if you’re asking…

“I’ve been well. Busy with classes.”

Nodding, you show a tiny smile. “Break is coming up, right?”

“Yes. We get next Thursday and Friday off. Same as you, I assume?”

“Yeah.”

“Any plans?” Erwin ventures, lifting an eyebrow. He can feel the tension in the conversation, a certain stiffness. You’re wary of him, and he can’t blame you for that. He messed up at the bar. He knows this.

Then, he sees your shoulders relax some. You place the creamer in your cart and take up a more casual stance, not quite so guarded when you answer, “Yeah, gonna go see my parents, spend the holiday with them in bum-fuck Egypt, as Levi likes to call it.”

Erwin snorts and rolls his eyes. “A poet.”

“Truly. What about you? Any plans?”

He shakes his head, tells you he wants nothing more than to just rest at home, maybe spend a couple evenings with his friends, and the two of you begin to walk together, winding through the aisles and grabbing items on your separate lists.

What should have been a ten-minute trip turns into an hour, and Erwin couldn’t be happier about it. You loosen up considerably, able to laugh at his anecdotes from class, getting starry-eyed at the mention of _Antigone_ , and things feel relatively normal by the time you both step into the checkout line.

Erwin is sad that it has to end, doesn’t even want to think about how long he’ll have to go without seeing you again—in person, anyway. He _dreams_ about you nearly every night. Sometimes they’re memories, both good and bad, but he’s also found himself waking up from sleepy fantasies of this life quite often, _this_ version of you and him where he finally gets his hands on you, more than just his fingers on your neck or the small of your back.

 _One day_ , he hopes. Prays. 

You both finish checking out at about the same time, Erwin hovering to wait for you then walking with you to your car. If he could just make this last a little longer…

“Well,” Erwin says as if he actually has something to follow up with, but the inevitable goodbye is bitter on his tongue, and he just can’t seem to force it out. His chest aches, throat tight with everything he wants to say but can’t.

You flash a smile—so beautiful and sincere when you tell him, “It was nice seeing you, Erwin.”

All he can do is nod as you unlock your car, putting your groceries in the backseat before getting behind the wheel. You close your door, put your seatbelt on, and for some reason, Erwin can’t walk away, like he’s trapped by invisible shackles. He just stands and watches as you turn your key in the ignition and—

Nothing. The car doesn’t start.

It’s terrible that it makes Erwin let out a breath of relief. He absolutely should not be happy about this, especially considering the way your whole body deflates where you sit. You slump over and rest your forehead against your steering wheel for a few seconds before turning your face to look at him, force a sugary grin that doesn’t meet your eyes, then open the door.

“I, uh, might be in need of more help.”

Erwin purses his lips to keep from smirking, but he knows you can see the amusement in his gaze. He isn’t celebrating your frustration—he’s just a little too smug about the entire situation.

“Pop the hood,” he says with a dramatic sigh, acting like he’s put out mostly to hide his giddiness but also because he knows it’ll make you snicker.

You do as you’re told, and Erwin passes his two bags off to you before rounding the vehicle to take a look inside.

“Please tell me it’s something easy like a dead battery,” he hears you whine from your seat.

Nothing is obviously wrong as Erwin completes his once over, and he hopes for your sake it is something as easy as a dead battery. He can fix that without a problem.

Poking his head around the hood, he asks, “Do you have jumper cables?”

Your response is bending between the two front seats and retrieving a circular bag he has no doubt contains just what he needs.

“Sit tight and I’ll drive over.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” you nod firmly, and Erwin ignores the tingle that runs down his spine at the honorific. Even sarcastic, it sounds good coming out of your mouth. It sounds _right_. 

The next 20 minutes are spent leaning against the side of the car as the two of you wait and hope that your battery will charge. The cute little pout never fully leaves your face, but that’s okay. Erwin loves it, has always loved it. He remembers the way you would wear the same expression when you wouldn’t get your way in Paradis, how you would look up at him through eyelashes sometimes glittering with tears, sometimes not. Erwin could never help himself from from touching your face, running a thumb over your pushed out bottom lip before leaning down and—

He shakes himself out of it, offers you a fond smile then checks his watch. The battery should be charged by now, so he nods and moves to detach the cables, giving you the go ahead to try. 

You let out something between a sob and a growl when nothing happens, and Erwin sighs, reaching through your open door to give your head a gentle pat. 

“I’ll call a tow truck.”

“It’s _fine_ ,” you huff. “I’ll call. You can go ahead and go. But thanks for your help.”

Erwin breathes your name a little exasperatedly then tells you, “I’ll wait with you. It’s getting dark. And, you’ll need a ride home anyway.”

He can see the way your throat tightens as you force yourself to grin, how your eyes are starting to glaze over. You’re almost at the point of tears, and Erwin understands. You had told him it had been a particularly rough week, and this is just the cherry on top. 

“Fine.”

It doesn’t take long for the truck to arrive, and you give the driver the name and address of your preferred auto repair shop. It’s currently closed, but there’s a note on their website about customers leaving towed vehicles in the parking lot and simply calling to leave a voicemail. 

After the fees are paid and your car is secured, the driver departs, and you’re left standing with Erwin, arms loaded down with groceries as you watch the tail lights move further and further away until they mix with all the others on the city street. 

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Erwin says, nodding to his car. 

You load your bags into his trunk then slide into the passenger side, mostly quiet for the duration of the ride save for the occasional direction and comment on the songs shuffling up on Erwin’s playlist. 

At the apartment, he helps you carry bags inside, bracing himself for some kind of encounter with your fiance, but as you unlock the door, you tell him, “Zeke’s probably on his way to Colt’s for Dungeons and Dragons, so…”

The _‘it’s safe for you to come in’_ is only implied, but Erwin snickers anyway, stepping into your home and following instructions about where to set the groceries down. 

It’s nice inside, comfortable earth-toned walls and furniture. He can see an impressive entertainment system set up in the living room—large TV and a few different consoles underneath. Two bookshelves frame each side, both nearly overflowing with different texts, and Erwin smiles at it, seeing many familiar spines even from the distance he’s standing. 

The kitchen is a little small, probably just big enough for two people but outfitted with the latest appliances. On the other side of an island is a dining room, round, glass table right in the middle, stained glass chandelier hanging above and looking a little out of place. 

You must catch Erwin frowning at it because you laugh and tell him, “Don’t ask. I think it was just some weird way of making the units look fancier or something.”

He shrugs and starts taking in the art on the wall instead, a three-paneled recreation of Van Gogh’s _Almond Blossoms_.

Erwin likes it here. Too much. 

He’ll be sad to leave, but—

“Stay for dinner,” you pipe up suddenly before more or less hiding in the pantry to put away some groceries. 

Taken aback, Erwin opens his mouth to decline the offer, knows you must be about ready to get rid of him. He can tell you’re still slightly uncomfortable around him, sorting through your feelings and trying to preserve yourself, but before he can protest, you turn around and continue, “You’ve done a lot for me today. Just let me make you something. _Please_.”

He doesn’t stand a chance against that hopeful gaze, just crumbles a bit where he’s leaning against the island and concedes with a mumbled, “Very well.”

And, he’s so incredibly glad he stays. Not just because he gets to spend more time with you but because he gets to watch you in the comfort of your own space, moving around the kitchen as you throw ingredients together. You queue up a playlist that sounds from the living room, fun electro-swing that you bob your head and mouth the words to. Erwin tries not to watch the way your hips sway as you dance. He doubts you even realize you’re doing it, subtle movements that make him suck on the inside of his cheek and cast his eyes to the ceiling. 

You ask him questions every once in a while, more about class, some about his friends. You tell him you feel guilty about not hanging out with the group anymore but, “Life has just been a little crazy, you know?” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, lips curving up at the way you toss a dish towel over your shoulder and turn to look at him. Your cheeks are slightly flushed from leaning over the boiling pot on the stove, and Erwin has to remind himself to keep his eyes on your face as you fan yourself. 

“Levi and Hange stop by my classroom sometimes, but it’s kinda hard to have a conversation with twenty eight-year-olds watching.”

 _“Maybe,”_ Erwin starts, resisting the urge to push hair from your face. “You should start coming to Happy Hour again then. Just once a week, remember? Help you wind down…”

You suck on your lower lip, glance to the steaming noodles and laugh quietly. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

He knows why you’re hesitant, but it seems like it would be good for you. Erwin isn’t just looking out for himself here. You seem drained—still beautiful and able to force smiles, but so tired. He wonders what has you stressed. Is it really just school? Family problems? Have you been sleeping well, or have your memories been keeping you awake?

A selfish part of Erwin hopes some of the fatigue stems from missing _him_ , that you’re tired from pining, but he shoves that idea to the back of his mind because what kind of man actually hopes for that? Not a good one, that’s for sure.

Dinner is beef tips and egg noodles with a side of vegetables. You prepare two plates then gesture to the dining room table with a jerk of your head. 

“What do you wanna drink?” You ask, setting the dishes down on opposite sides of the table. “I’ve got tea, coke, couple of beers, water of course...”

“Tea is fine, dar—” Erwin catches himself before the rest of the pet name manages to escape his mouth. He clears his throat quietly, considers apologizing, but you don’t show any sign of noticing, so he just remains silent and takes his seat. 

The domesticity is _killing_ him. Slowly. Deliciously. It sounds so chauvinistic, but he can’t help thinking about what a good little housewife you would make, remembers the way you looked with Eren on your hip at the fun center. Fuck, to be able to come home to you every evening. The cliché cooking and cleaning isn’t even necessary. Erwin just wants the chance to be able to walk into his home and greet you with a kiss, kick his shoes off, relax in front of the TV with you in his arms. Of course, the idea of bending you over the kitchen counter is also quite pleasing, but he can’t focus on that right now, not when you’re walking over with a glass of iced tea, not when you’re lowering yourself into the chair across from him, not when he has to make it through the meal without _misbehaving_. 

The food is lovely, very down-home comfort, and you tell Erwin that it’s one of your favorites because your mother used to cook it often when you were young. 

“She was the stay-at-home mom for a long time, and honestly, I don’t know how she did it. Kept the house clean, cooked every single night. I mean, there were only three of us, but still.”

Erwin listens attentively, smiling as he chews because he remembers meeting you that first time, fist over your heart, telling him about how both your parents died in the Scouting Legion. It brings him more joy than you could ever imagine to know that this life has afforded you more comfort and more _time_ with them. 

“So, you’re not going to your dad’s for Thanksgiving?” You ask, taking a sip of tea and watching Erwin over the rim of your glass. 

Erwin shakes his head. “He’s always traveling, can’t even tell you the last time we actually spent a holiday together.” You frown, but he waves you off. “It’s fine, we always make up for it. And, it’s not like I’ll be alone. Nana has _demanded_ I join her and Mike at her family’s Thanksgiving.”

You laugh. “Has she always been like that? So… Motherly?”

He has a feeling you already know the answer to that question—if you could just remember—but he tells you anyway, “Oh, absolutely. She’s been looking out for Mike and I for years now.”

After pushing your plate away, you rest your chin in your hand and listen as Erwin tells you a couple different stories about his friends, how in-tune they are with each other and how Nanaba has always had some kind of sixth sense about the various shenanigans Erwin and Mike have gotten themselves into. 

“I swear, an alarm bell must have gone off in her head when he broke his fingers a couple years ago playing soccer. As soon as he looked down at them and _saw_ , Nana was calling him.”

“Talk about a gut feeling,” you snort, eventually rising and moving to pick up the plates only for Erwin to bat your hand away from his.

“I can do the dishes.”

“Absolutely not,” you say, eyebrows high and challenging in a way that makes Erwin raise one of his own before standing up.

He plucks your plate from your hand and picks up his own then gently nudges passed you to get into the kitchen.

“Erwin!”

“You made dinner! I can do dishes!”

You make a little noise of irritation and follow him, glaring as you sidestep him to open the dishwasher. Erwin turns the water on and grabs the sponge at the corner of the sink, starts rinsing the first plate and glances over at you to show a smug smirk. 

You’re fighting a smile of your own, sucking your teeth at him, and _oh_ , Erwin remembers the few times you did that before, the way you would back talk and push his buttons until he finally snapped and _fucked_ the attitude out of you. Thinking about it even for a second makes his cock twitch in his pants, but he steadies himself, inhaling deeply through his nose before passing the first clean plate to you.

You set it in the bottom rack then straighten and cross your arms over your chest.

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

Erwin tosses you a lopsided grin he knows for a fact makes women swoon, and judging by the way you immediately look away, it seems to have a similar effect on you. He’d like nothing more than to crowd you against the counter, tilt your head up so that you’re forced to look at him, press his body against yours, make you feel what you do to him—

The sound of the door opening nearly makes Erwin drop the plate he’s holding, and you back up until you meet the edge of the island, eyes too wide to be innocent as Zeke walks inside and stops in his tracks at the sight of the two of you in the kitchen.

Erwin meets his cold gaze but doesn’t stop rinsing, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being caught off guard, but he can’t deny the way his heart sinks at the other man’s arrival.

 _“Oh,”_ Zeke begins, glancing between you and Erwin as his jaw slides forward. “Well, this is _quaint_.”

“Zeke,” you sigh. “It’s a long story that I’ll tell you about la—”

“ _Fuck_ later,” he spits, and Erwin is suddenly livid at the fact that it makes you flinch. 

He turns the water off and leans over to put the plate up, then straightens and steps toward Zeke. “It’s fine, I was just leaving.”

“Yeah, good idea.”

“Babe, don’t be a dick.” You pace over to him and reach out to touch his arm, but Zeke yanks away and turns his attention to you.

“Don’t be a dick? Are you fucking—There is a man I know for a _fact_ wants to bone my fucking fiancé in my apartment, and you want me just _be cool_ about it?” 

You cringe at the same time Erwin’s face heats up, and he really shouldn’t argue, but it comes out anyway, “I don’t want to _bone_ her, as you so eloquently put.”

“Oh, fuck off, _Erwin!_ ” 

Zeke is shouting now, and he pushes you to the side a little too roughly before walking forward and bowing up. 

Taking a deep breath, Erwin stays absolutely still, just peers over his nose at the slightly shorter man. His palms itch by his sides, fingers twitching, but he refuses to curl them into a fist. Not with you watching. 

Instead, he utters a low warning: “You need to calm down, Zeke.”

He flicks light hair from his glasses, raises his chin then hisses, “And _you_ need to get the _fuck out_ before I brain you on this fucking counter.”

It’s too tense. Erwin’s blood is boiling beneath his skin. The back of his neck is prickling. His ears are hot with anger, and he can feel his pulse in his fucking teeth. He is ready to _fight_.

But one glance over Zeke’s shoulder to find you staring at them with watery eyes and shaky hands covering your mouth makes Erwin back down. 

“Yeah, alright.”

He shoulder checks the other man to move past him, a little too happy about the way he stumbles to the side, then grabs his keys from the island and looks at you in concern. He hates leaving you, especially like this. There’s no telling what Zeke will do once Erwin walks out the door, and he’s honestly worried about your safety, but—

“It’s fine. Just go,” you tell him in a thick voice. “I’ll be fine.”

Erwin nods, ignoring the way Zeke swears to himself, and sees himself out. His heart feels like it’s about to explode, bludgeoning his chest cavity as he makes his way to his car. Erwin slips inside and locks the doors, then twists the volume knob on his radio, rests his forehead on his steering wheel and yells. 

He has never been more frustrated in his life. And, there’s nothing he can do about it. This is all up to you. _You’re_ the one who has to wake up. _You’re_ the one who has to remember. _You’re_ the one who has to come back to _him_. Waiting for you is _destroying_ him, but what else can he do? 

He pants for a few minutes, presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, then straightens back up and pulls out his phone. 

**ERWIN, 7:33PM**  
If you need somewhere to stay tonight, let me know.  
Not even with me. I can call Levi or Nana.  
Sorry about tonight.

Erwin knows he’s being presumptuous. He shouldn’t just assume you’re in danger, but going off of what he knows about Zeke, well… He’s not exactly confident in the _Beast_ being able to keep a level head. 

He only waits a couple more minutes for a reply, but when nothing comes, Erwin starts on his way home. He tries not to think about what could be going on inside your apartment, the shouting, the accusations, the crying. The idea of you being in pain—Erwin hates it more than anything. 

No text when he pulls into his driveway. No text after a scalding shower to loosen his muscles. It isn’t until Erwin is climbing into bed with his annotated copy of _Antigone_ that his phone finally lights up. 

**YOU, 9:18PM**  
I’m fine.

 **YOU, 9:18PM**  
And don’t apologize. You helped  
me out a lot today. Zeke is just  
worried, and I can’t really blame him.

 **YOU, 9:18PM**  
Can you?

No. No he really can’t blame him. Because Erwin is actively trying to sway you, has openly admitted to his feelings now, and he doesn’t plan on giving up on you anytime soon.


	13. as they start to fall away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: throwing up. also, hey look, this didn't take me forever wow! thank you guys for all the incredible feedback you've been giving me. it's super motivating, and i really appreciate it. 

◈

“I mean, I can’t _blame_ him for being upset, you know? I would— _I_ would be upset too if the tables were turned. Like, I don’t like him spending time alone with Pieck, so I get it. He still does it, but I get it. But why should I stop if he won’t? They’re just friends, just like Erwin and me are just friends.”

Pixis stares at you silently, head cocked to the side, lips just barely turned up at the corners. It’s both maddening and relieving because he _knows_ , and you hate that there’s something _to_ know. But, it also means you don’t have to explain yourself. 

“Sounds to me like the two of you might need to sit down and have a conversation,” he muses before taking a slow sip of whatever he keeps in his thermos. 

“Who, me and Erwin?" 

Dr. Pixis snorts. "You and your fiancé.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” he chuckles, then imitates, _“Oh."_

Sighing dramatically, you lean back on the couch, letting yourself sink into the cushions as you pout. Still, you admit, "Yeah, we probably should. We’re both pretty tense right now. Keeping secrets isn’t helping.”

“So, there are secrets being kept?” Pixis prompts. 

You roll your eyes before settling them on his thin frame again. “Don’t play dumb, Pixis. It doesn’t pair well with the _distinguished_ ‘stache.”

“Say it, then. Speak it into the room,” he uses a bony hand to gesture to the space between the two of you then raises a challenging eyebrow. 

You squint at him, suck your two front teeth then, _“Tch,”_ when he asks, “What’s your secret?" 

That’s the beauty of a secret, though. It’s yours. Once you tell him, once you _admit_ to it, it isn’t just yours anymore. You can’t keep it guarded to your chest because someone else will know. Even if it’s just the doctor. 

"I…”

“Yes?" 

Huffing, you cross your arms over your chest then mumble, "I have feelings for Erwin.”

“Mm, yes, it appears you do.”

You scoff, think about flipping him off, but you know he means well. The easier it is to admit to yourself, the easier it will be to accept and sort through. _Get over_. Because that’s what you have to do. Eventually.

“I’m going out with that whole group again this weekend,” you tell Pixis. “I was trying to avoid them, but…”

“They’re your friends,” he finishes, and you nod. 

“It was Mike’s birthday last week, but he was out of town, so we’re celebrating late.”

“And, Erwin asked you to join?" 

"Levi, actually,” you tell him truthfully, relaxing again. “Texted me, and I quote, _come party for Mike’s birthday, or suffer the consequences of my undying hatred._ " 

"Looks like you don’t have much of a choice then,” the older man chuckles, shaking his head. 

The conversation idles for a few more minutes until Pixis decides it’s time to get down to business, retrieving the little machine he keeps tucked away in a corner and passing you two familiar tiny clickers. You hold one in each hand, wait for the doctor to adjust the settings to your liking—subtle vibrations pulsing in your palms in a steady rhythm. 

They keep you grounded when you threaten to float away, recalling the dream you had the previous night, the one you woke up from with tears streaming down your face. 

“We were in a stone room… I think it was cold? Dank and dark. But we were laughing. Levi was there. And Erwin and Nana and Miche…” You don’t even catch the slip as you fall deeper into your recollection, mind reeling as the pictures and sounds become clearer and clearer.

~

The crate you’re sitting on is hard on your backside, the edge digging into the backs of your thighs as you lean forward, eyes wide and bright as you watch and listen to the soldiers around you.

All your superiors. All incredibly impressive. You are delighted to be in their company, though you’re not quite sure _why_ you are. Captain Zacharias and Nanaba had simply brought you along, promising wine and crackers—a feast of the gods in times like these. 

Rosy-cheeked and smiling, Nanaba changes the subject from the latest meeting with the brass to the incoming recruits. 

“How are they? Strong or scared?”

Across from you, sitting on his own crate is Commander Erwin, hunched forward over his spread legs as a bottle of wine dangles from his hand. 

Shrugging broad shoulders, he shows a soft smile. “Both, I’d say. Nine out of the top ten are joining the Scouting Legion which is… Odd, to say the least, but I’m grateful for it.”

“Need everyone we can get,” Miche grunts next to you.

Captain Levi takes a sip from his teacup, something he had insisted on only to fill it with alcohol instead. 

“I have a feeling those kids were _inspired_ by a certain loud-mouthed brat,” he utters, and you snort, very aware of who he’s talking about. You already know that the shifter child has a hard time biting his tongue. You wouldn’t be surprised if he _urged_ (bullied) his fellow trainees to join the Scouts. 

“Be that as it may,” Erwin muses. “We’re lucky to have them, especially soldiers like Ackerman and Braun." 

You nod in agreement. Though you haven’t met either, you recognize their names as the top two of their class. They should have joined the Military Police—all of them. Instead, they’ll be arriving at the Scout headquarters inside Wall Rose in just a few days. 

The evening carries on, filled with more and more laughter the longer everyone drinks, and that feeling of being out of place amongst the officers eventually fades away. Wine heavy on your tongue, you find yourself sitting on the ground between Nanaba’s legs at some late hour of the night as she threads fingers through your hair, braiding it perfectly even in her intoxicated state. 

It feels nice. It _all_ feels nice. Her nimble fingers on your scalp, the warmth in your face, the fullness of your belly from the wine and crackers Captain Zacharias keeps handing you. Most satisfying are the fond smiles the Commander keeps blessing you with, plush lips turning up at the corners as his foggy blue eyes soften. It makes your heart thud too hard in your chest, and you have to avert your gaze before you give yourself away. 

For the past year, you’ve been admiring him. Falling for him, really, but you haven’t fully admitted that to yourself. Nothing can come from it anyway. Both of you are too driven and too _temporary_. There’s no room for love in a world like this. Even if you confessed, the Commander would probably just chalk it up to a young girl’s crush and laugh it off, let you down gently. 

Still, the grins, the shoulder squeezes, the offer for extra hand-to-hand combat training (you’d turned that down, too afraid of making a fool of yourself)—it’s enough to leave you flustered. 

The sky outside is barely beginning to brighten with morning light when the five of you disband, Captain Zacharias carrying Nanaba on his back as he and Levi walk to the officer quarters. You have to be awake again in just a couple hours and are eager to sleep off your drunken state before reporting for duty. The night off was well-worth the sleep deprivation, though. You’re flattered to have even been invited and would love to be again. 

"Let me walk you back to the barracks,” Commander Erwin matches your stride, and you look up at him in surprise. 

“Y-you don’t have to, sir. I’ll be fine.”

He blinks down at you for a moment, hazy cerulean making your insides turn deliciously. “I insist." 

You’re no match for that baritone voice, melting as it washes over you. 

"Okay, yeah.”

His large hand wavers slightly as he moves to pat you on the head. Anyone else and you would have swatted it away, a usually condescending gesture. But coming from the Commander, it feels like silent praise, an unspoken, _'good little soldier’_ that makes your toes curl in your boots. 

Half the walk is quiet, the only sounds being the grass crunching underfoot and early morning birds beginning to sing. 

Then the Commander speaks up, states, “You’ve been on Miche’s squad for some months now,” to which you nod, nibbling on your lower lip. “They seem quite taken with you. How do you like it?" 

You grin, staring ahead as you think about your comrades. "It’s a little intimidating. I feel like they’re still leagues ahead of me in terms of skill. I hate to think I slow them down—”

“You don’t. Miche has told me himself you’ve pulled your own weight since the beginning. You’re constantly improving, so there’s no need to doubt yourself.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, yet you can’t help but snort sarcastically, “Thanks for the report card, sir." 

Erwin’s thick eyebrows raise in amusement, another smile forming on his handsome face as you clap a hand over your mouth and muffle through it, "I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate." 

"Did that wine give you a smart mouth, soldier?" 

Your chest tightens at the same time your stomach flips. He doesn’t seem offended, but that authoritative edge is still in his voice. He is not a man to be talked back to. 

"Uh, yes sir, sorry sir." 

His mouth twists into what looks like a smirk that he’s trying a failing to hide, his lack of response unnerving as you reach the barracks. He’s thinking about something. What it is, you don’t know and probably don’t want to. Disciplinary action, possibly. You suddenly feel much more sober. 

"Well, I should…” You hook a thumb over your shoulder to point to the building. “Yeah. Thank you for walking with me. And, sorry again…" 

"You’re fine. Most people are too scared to joke with me." 

"Can’t imagine why”. 

"I think a little attitude is good for me,” he chuckles, then shoots you a challenging look as he emphasizes, _“Every once in a while.”_

Sucking on the inside of your cheek, you shake your head at yourself and your racing thoughts. 

“Consider it noted, sir,” you tell him, then bid him good night.

◈

The drive downtown is unsettlingly quiet. Music plays at a low volume, but no words are spoken, a game of chicken to see who’ll break first.

It’s not going to be you. You’ve said your piece, and you have nothing else to add. 

_“I thought you were done hanging out with them! Are you fucking kidding?”_ Your fiancé had stared at you with wide eyes of icy blue and pinprick pupils. 

_“They’re my friends, Zeke. I took a step back 'cause I was stressed, but I feel better now.”_

Your bottom lip pushes out, and you sink a little lower in the passenger seat as you recall your fight just hours earlier. 

_“Oh, you feel_ better? _Did playing house calm your nerves? Shared a nice dinner with Erwin and now everything’s okay?”_

_“I told you he helped with the car and gave me a ride home—”_

_“That’s not the only ride he wanted to give you. Why can’t you fucking see—”_

_“Oh my god, I know, okay? I know he has feelings for me!”_

_“And, you_ still _want to spend time with him?”_

It had only grown more heated after that. Zeke made a few good points about how you were disregarding his feelings, disrespecting him by giving Erwin the time of day. It was hard to sit through, his criticisms coming off harshly due to his anger. 

You assured him you only spent time with the other man because he’s friends with Levi and Hange, that the one-on-one time the other night was a surprise and wouldn’t happen again. You had just wanted to pay him back for all his help. 

Though you can’t deny how good it had felt to see him again, to hang out and be close _away_ from prying eyes. Of course, you don’t let Zeke know about that little detail. 

It’s not right, and it’s not healthy, and you need to get over these feelings and appreciate your fiancé before your relationship implodes. It’s a hard but very real truth.

And, it’s why you agreed to him coming tonight, one less fight to get into. This get-together isn’t even about Erwin, though; it’s about Mike. 

Mike who grins broadly as soon as he sees you part the crowd and approach the group. His smile fades, however, when he notices you’re not alone, jaw setting as he flexes his hands by his sides and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He sniffs, nostrils flaring in what seems like annoyance, then looks back to you and forces his face into another softer expression.

“Glad you could make it.”

“Of course. Surprised to even be here. You don’t really seem like the partying type,” you tell him with a wink, and Mike chuckles as he jerks his head over to the rest of his friends who are all watching the three of you _very_ closely for some reason. 

“Nana insisted, and it’s easier to just… Not argue with her.”

“Tiny but mighty, that one,” you agree before resigning yourself to introductions. “Mike, this is Zeke. Zeke, Mike.”

The men stare at each other for a moment, and you feel a tension eerily similar to the one that exploded between your fiancé and Erwin when they first met at the school after Open House. 

Mike has been the epitome of calm and collected since you met him some months ago, always easy going, down to earth, a little quiet but still personable. Now, though, his green eyes are blazing as he looks at Zeke who smirks up at him in a way that makes your stomach flip. You’ve seen that smirk before, and it means trouble. 

Holding out his hand, Zeke’s voice is oddly smug when he says, “Nice to meet you,” raising his eyebrows when Mike doesn’t move to take it. He waits for a couple seconds before adding, “It’s pretty customary to shake hands when you greet someone,” and you elbow him in the ribs. 

Still, Mike remains silent, though his jaw slides forward ever so slightly. 

“Not even a word,” Zeke tuts. “Weird. Pretty sure we speak the same language. Can you unders—”

“I understand you just fine,” Mike gruffs. “I just don’t have any interest in talking to you.”

Your own eyes nearly bulge out of your skull because _what in the actual fuck is going on?_ Did Erwin tell him about the other night? Was the story exaggerated? Or does Zeke really just give off that much of a pretentious air? Your old friends from back home had complained about it before, but you never thought much of his arrogance, always too enamored to care.

Pretentious as Zeke may be, though, Mike is in the wrong here, judging the other man purely off what someone else has told him. You never thought he’d be the kind of person to do that, always level-headed, always—

A slew of images flash through your head at breakneck speed—blood-soaked grass, Miche in pieces, his deep, strangled voice, and the form of a furry monster retreating toward the horizon.

You press your palm to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. A hand clamps down on your shoulder, and you squint over at Zeke, vision blurring, colors morphing. Flannel fades to beige save for the red checkers that all blend into one bright arm-band. Plastic frames turn to wire, and your stomach _rolls_. You haven’t had a single drop of alcohol and you’re already nauseous.

“Some friends you got here,” Zeke’s voice brings everything back into focus as it should be, but his eyes are shining too brightly, devious as he glances between you and Mike. 

You grimace, swallowing over and over to keep bile from crawling up your esophagus. You knew before that bringing Zeke to this gathering would likely cause some problems, but you were not prepared for this. 

Over Mike’s shoulder, you catch sight of Erwin walking over, eyebrows pinched together in concern as he stops next to his friend and cocks his head. 

Fond smiles. A hand on your head. Warm blood on your arms, your uniform, drying as you ride to Utgard. 

Utgard. What is—

“You okay?” Erwin asks, voice laced with concern. You’ve heard it before, that tone, back when your ribs were painted with bruises, when you’d hissed with every movement. 

Except that never happened.

“You look like you’re about to—" 

Did it?

 _"Vomit,"_ you cut him off then hurtle through all three men, rushing off to the bathroom. 

You throw yourself into a grimy stall, on your knees in front of the toilet that only causes your gut to churn more violently. 

Every wretch makes your whole body curl in on itself, spine threatening to pierce through the skin of your back as you empty the contents of your stomach. Your head pounds, the backs of your eyelids bursting with white, then color, then more terrifying images. 

A man in uniform standing at your front door with two ripped patches in his hand.

Blades sinking into the thick flesh of a beast. 

A massive ball of translucent sludge encasing horrified corpses. 

You cough and spit, hands shaking fiercely as you hold yourself up. A mix of tears and mucus are dripping down your face, and you cannot stop shivering for the life of you. 

What is all this? What is happening? And, what can you do to make it stop?

◆

"Someone should probably go check on her,” Smith muses, and Zeke sucks his teeth at the prick, squinting at the worried expression on his face as he stares off toward the restrooms.

“Gonna try and take that upon yourself, pal?" 

"Watch your fuckin’ tone, Yeager,” the big guy spits, gaining Zeke’s attention once again. 

He remembers this one, this soldier. Remembers what he looked like when he was scared for his life, that blade shaking in his hands as he held it in front of him. He tried to go down fighting, and Zeke has to admit it had been admirable, but there was only so much the soldier could do back then after Zeke had—

“How’re the legs treating you? Better this time around?" 

_Mike_ lunges forward only for Erwin to grab him by the bicep, a low utterance of, "Stand down,” making the now livid man stop in his tracks. Always the faithful follower, it seems. The fact that Smith still has such power over these people is ridiculous, but then, Zeke’s never really known what it means to be truly loyal to a cause or a person. 

Two more figures are suddenly flanking Smith and Mike, Levi and a thin blonde woman with a pixie cut. The little captain looks unimpressed and obviously disgusted as he glances at Zeke, voice lacking any hint of surprise when he asks, “Seriously? Already? You’ve been in the building for four god damn seconds, and you’re already causing problems.”

Zeke chuckles and shrugs his shoulders. “What can I say—”

“Preferably nothing,” he snaps. “Keep your trap shut for the rest of the night, monkey boy." 

A comeback is on the tip of his tongue, but before Zeke can get it out, the little blonde steps forward, her eyes wide and glossed over with something Zeke can’t read. 

"So, this is him,” she says, and he quirks an eyebrow. “The beast titan. You’re who killed Miche.”

 _Fury_ , Zeke realizes. Her voice is calm, but there is a quiet madness to her expression and body language, like a viper ready to strike at any moment. 

Zeke tuts, more than irritated at this point and not at all intimidated. 

“If you wanna get into technicalities, _I_ didn’t actually kill him. I just let the other titans—”

“What the fuck did I tell you, dickass?” Levi interrupts, stepping between the woman and Zeke. He tells her to go check on you, make sure you’re fucking alive and not having some kind of panic attack. 

The idea that you could be in there reliving your last life crosses Zeke’s mind. There’s no telling what could bring it all back, and he would hate for you to have the jarring epiphany while here. Zeke is a little outnumbered, after all, the only thing keeping the Scouts in front of him from tearing him apart being you and how much they care for you. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying. 

Levi watches the blonde stomp her way to the women’s bathroom, waiting for the door to close before he turns back to Zeke. 

“And you,” he glares. “You wanna stay and keep an eye on us? Fine. I get it. This fuck has been pushing his luck, I know,” he nods to Smith who rolls his eyes. “What’s _not_ gonna work, though, is you treating all of us like shit.” Stepping forward, Levi holds a fist against Zeke’s chest, and as much as he hates to admit it, Zeke can still feel that unnatural Ackerman power radiating from it. “Keep the bullshit up. See what happens.”

Snorting, Zeke holds his hands up in surrender, stumbles back a few steps when Levi shoves him away. 

“Alright, alright, message received." 

Levi sneers and shakes his head, then starts making his way back over to the remaining Scouts, leaving Zeke to stand awkwardly with Smith and the still fuming Mike. 

It’s tense. Zeke eyes both of them as if waiting, but Smith eventually lets out a sigh and drops his hold on his friend. 

"Come on. We’ll try to tolerate you for the night. Just, like Levi said, stay quiet.”

“So welcoming, wow." 

"Fuck off.”

The bar is actually pretty nice, Zeke has to admit, crowded but comfortable with counters on both sides of the large room, a stage at one end with a busy dance floor spread out in front. Booths line the other two open walls, and when Zeke follows the men over to their spot, he finds 5 other people waiting, all of whom look up and make various expressions of distaste except for one, the only familiar face. 

“Hange." 

At least he’s a little more acquainted with them. Hange has experience in putting up with Zeke’s alleged _bullshit_. 

They seem to realize this and beckon him over, though they don’t look extremely pleased about it. 

"Cop a squat next to me before they murder you. Fuck, what did you do? You’ve been here for, like, two minutes.”

“They just don’t find my jokes funny, I guess,” Zeke smirks, settling in. 

“He asked me how my legs were,” Mike explains with a roll of his eyes, and Zeke can’t help but snicker. That had been a low blow. 

Hange faces him, thin eyebrows high behind their glasses as they ask, “You mean the ones you crushed?" 

"Maybe.”

Zeke yelps when Hange’s hand connects with the back of his head. “What is _wrong_ with you?" 

"It just slipped out!" 

Another slap, and Zeke swats them away, the two settling just in time for you to return, all but wrapped around the blonde woman who tells Mike, "Babe, go grab her some water, please.”

Zeke is on his feet again, his mood shifting quickly as he takes in your flustered state. Your eyes are bloodshot, and your color is off. He plucks you from your friend, slipping an arm around you and holding you close to him as he frowns. 

“What’s going on, baby? Do we need to go to urgent care?" 

You shake your head. "No, I’m fine now. Something just got to me, I guess.”

He can tell you’re lying by the way you won’t look at him for longer than a second, but you’re insistent when you tell him again, “I’m fine, I promise. I just wanna sit down." 

Zeke makes a face but doesn’t fight it, leading you back to his spot and telling you, "Maybe you shouldn’t drink tonight.”

 _Maybe you shouldn’t be here at all,_ he wants to say, but for once, he keeps his mouth shut. 

Because you look pitiful except for one detail: the affectionate smile you flash the others before resting your head on Zeke’s shoulder. 

Mike brings you a glass of water that you take and gulp down as everyone watches curiously. It isn’t until you place it back in the table that you speak up louder now, “Please stop looking at me like I’m gonna collapse. I’m fine. Y'all keep partying.”

It’s hard to call this a party, though, especially with the way everyone keeps glancing at the two of you, some cringing, some rolling their eyes. If you notice, you don’t say anything, probably confused about your friends’ very obvious dislike of your fiancé, but Zeke knows. He ignores it for the most part, but he still throws an exaggerated wink at Levi at one point when he glares for too long. 

Strangely enough, Smith turns out to be the most hospitable out of the bunch, not only making sure that you’re okay and hydrated but going as far as to ask Zeke what he wants to drink. 

It’s extremely unnerving, Zeke’s first thought being _'fucker’s gonna poison me’_ before he remembers he’s in a different world now.

So, he just blinks in surprise for a few moments before nodding and telling him, “Yeah, uh, an old-fashioned, I guess.”

Across the table, Mike snorts and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, _“Dickhead,”_ under his breath, but Zeke just clucks his tongue and thanks the other man. 

It isn’t the worst night of his life. Zeke remains uncomfortable, an outsider looking in as the rest of the group converses and laughs with one another, you included. You may be leaning on Zeke, but your attention is on your friends. 

Throughout the evening, he begins putting names to the faces he doesn’t know, the soldiers he never met in Paradis—Moblit, Petra, Lynne, Henning, and Nanaba, the blonde who’s been hovering over you like a mother. Most of them look at you like you hung the fucking moon, and Zeke muses about how painful this is for them, to know you when you don’t know them, when you don’t even know yourself. 

He isn’t at all shocked by the way Smith’s eyes flick to you every few seconds, pathetic, longing glances that make Zeke’s blood boil. What he is curious about, though, is that he isn’t the only one doing it. Mike can’t stop looking at you either. It’s in a different way, his expression more sentimental than sad, and Zeke figures it’s because he feels a different kind of love. It makes him wonder… 

When you’re distracted talking with Levi and Petra, Zeke leans over to Hange and asks in a voice just loud enough for them to hear, “Why does the big dude keep staring like that? What was he to her?" 

Hange turns just enough for Zeke to see their smirk, and he readies himself to hear about how you may have had some kind of fling with the towering man. 

Turns out, it’s much worse than that. 

"He was a squad leader,” is all they offer at first, then, “ _Her_ squad leader. And, they were super close. All three of them, actually, her and Miche, and Nana." 

A nasty sensation settles in the pit of Zeke’s stomach. It feels a little bit like guilt. 

"She was there when he died, you know,” Hange continues, and that sensation twists into something darker. “She was devastated, had nightmares for months. I don’t think she ever fully recovered.”

Zeke swallows, remembering well how he left this Miche in Paradis, broken and helpless against the smaller titans. 

The realization sinks in fully then. After years of trying to ignore it, to pretend everything would be fine, that you’d just be able to talk it out, Zeke comes to the truth. 

“She’s gonna leave me when she figures it out.” He says it more to himself than to Hange, but they still hear. 

“Yeah, probably. You really surprised by that, though?" 

Zeke looks around the table, the way your face is split into a grin as you listen to Levi rant about _"shitty-ass administration”_ , how Smith watches you with stars in his eyes, sighing dreamily like a god damn schoolgirl. Next to him, Mike and Nanaba sit with their legs pressed together, muttering to each other and glancing over to you with a certain fondness only long-lost friends can manage. 

Zeke killed them. He killed all of them one way or another. He turned the Eldians within Wall Rose. He allowed them to devour the captain. He wiped out nearly every soldier in Shiganshina including Smith. 

It’s an odd feeling knowing that he has the blood of so many of these people on his hands. He should feel filthy, ashamed, afraid. Truthfully though, the only thing he’s scared of is losing you. He’d kill them all again if it meant he could keep you like this, all his and free of those horrific memories. 

The more time you spend with your old comrades, though, the more pieces you gather of your past life. There’s no use trying to stop it. Zeke held you captive once before, and tempting as it may be, he won’t do it again. 

Besides, old soldiers are everywhere. You have several in your class, and Zeke is pretty sure your fucking _therapist_ is one of the higher ups from Paradis, commander of some regiment. No telling how many more there are crawling around this city alone. 

He has two options here. One, do everything in his power to keep you from your friends, whether it’s just taking up all your free time himself or falling back on old, manipulative or violent habits. 

Or two, allow you to spend time with them and grow back into yourself. 

Your memories will return no matter what. It’s an inevitability, Zeke knows, and when they do…

He’s going to lose you.


End file.
